


A Magnificent Depravity

by Eglentyne



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, M/M, Multi, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 81,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eglentyne/pseuds/Eglentyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian discovers Ciel can no longer ignore his attraction to his demonic butler. What starts as an entertaining tryst results in Sebastian discovering his one short coming. What sort of calamity will befall them as a result?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Part 1 – Calcination

_The fire in you is the stirring of desire. Feed into this scintillating blaze, so you are alight with passion, illuminating your potential essence._

* * *

When the young master insisted on bathing himself without my aid, I had reasoned that this change was normal for a boy in his fifteenth year. My initial thought was a young man is entitled to his space when it comes to private matters, but the events of that first night led me to a different conclusion. Ciel’s shift in tendencies would not be as simple as a demand for independence.

Having prepared a bath for the young master, I entered the study where he sat in his Queen Anne–style armchair by the fire place, his back to the door. With his left leg squarely crossed over the other, he propped a book that did not appear to retain his interest. Instead, his lazy attention was set on the flickering hearth fire.

From the doorway I crept to the other side of the room, staying in the shadows. Looking at the contents of his desk, papers were strewn everywhere: contracts, an accounting book with never-ending columns of numbers, letters from distribution companies and design proposals for a new line of stuffed rabbits. No doubt the Earl had just ended his work for the evening, or rather left it unfinished for tomorrow. Firelight indicated the dark circles under that unfocused gaze. His chin rested on a bent arm crooked on the armrest as he let out a soundless yawn.

“Might I suggest,” Ciel jumped at my abrupt announcement, “that the young master should retire for the evening?”

The book fell from his lap as he shot from the chair. “Damn it Sebastian, announce your presence next time!” He reached down and retrieved the tome that had tumbled to the floor.

“My apologies, young master.” I bowed slightly.

“And another thing… I don’t need you to tell me it is bedtime.” Ciel crossed his arms with all the stubbornness of a child.

I decided to play along. “Very well. I do believe that at your mature age, I am in no position to mandate a strict bed time for you.” Pointing to the grandfather clock standing by the door, its face read half-past eleven. “However, being as late as it is, I only wish the young master be rested for his company tomorrow.”

Ciel groaned at the mention of company.

“I presume you are finished with your paperwork for the evening?” My polished shoes glinted as I paced toward the fireplace on the opposite end of the room.

“For the evening, yes, but my accounts are hardly complete.” He grumbled, “And I would rather finish them tomorrow than spend the day entertaining…”

“Did you expect you would get it all done tonight after putting off the work for the better part of the week?”

“Sebastian, I don’t need your criticism.” Ciel looked ready to hurl his book at me.

“It appears you _are_ rather tired, young master.” Plucking the book from his hand, I placed it in its rightful slot on the shelf behind him. “It would be beneficial for you to relax in a bath before retiring. You appear to be a little tense.” From the stack of books I walked over and placed my hands on his shoulders. The muscles were tense. Perhaps he _had_ sat hunched over his desk all day in a desperate effort to sort out his accounts.

He shrugged off my gloved hands. “And I suppose you want to bathe me too?” he retorted with sour expression. What elicited this comment, I wondered?

I folded my arms. “This has been the norm for some years, young master, unless you would prefer otherwise?” Never had I heard him voice a remark like this, as if he did not want me to do something for him. His cheeks tinged pink, he looked off to the side in that, “I do not wish to discuss it” manner. If I ever brought his inhibitions to light, he would lash out at me. _Perhaps Ciel is ready for more self-reliance when it comes to his own private matters,_ I considered.

I smiled, trying to mask my slight annoyance for his petulance. “Well, I already drew a bath and everything is set for you. In the meantime, I will prepare your bed.” On my heel I turned in the direction of the door.

“Sebastian–," Stopping at the threshold, I glanced back. Ciel looked dazed, lips parted as though he had a word to say but no breath to say it with. The hearth fire gave a soft pop, as if it intended to break the silence.

It was customary for the boy to spit out commands whenever the desire presented itself. However, for the past few weeks, I often heard hesitation in his requests, a curious change of character, to be sure. “Anything you need, I am willing to provide.”

“No, really, I’m… thank you. Please, do as you will. I’ll just… go to my bath…” From beside his chair, Ciel picked up the oil lamp on his side table. Light in hand, he bolted to the door, trying hard to keep a measurable distance from me, as I was standing just at the threshold. “I have it. I mean, you can go… now…” As he swerved around me and out into the hall, he kept his eyes averted, as if there was something fascinating about the floor that was worth his notice.

“I hope you find it relaxing, my lord.” He nodded without saying another word. His light jounced from his wide gait down the hallway, to the other end where his bath was waiting.

As I stood in the darkened hallway, save for the dim light that leaked from the study, I ruminated on my bond to Ciel. In the five years of our contract, my charge was nowhere near to exacting his revenge. He lived an illustrious life building his corporate domain, presiding as an Earl of his estate. On occasion the Queen would employ him on some nefarious case but such assignments were increasingly rare, and they failed to bring the master any closer to solving the mystery of his own traumatic past.

His was a soul who drove himself with such ambition, despite having knowledge of his inevitable, grim demise. There was something palatable to that tenacity and I had spent years encouraging that alongside encouraging his path to revenge. I considered the possibility that there was no one left for him to seek revenge against, that those responsible could have met their fate by some other means. If that were the case, I was not about to end the contract when my charge had not yet ripened.

These truths were considered because I could sense something smouldering deep within the young master, a new sensation that I had never observed in him. He had gazed into the fire of his study and I recalled a look of longing set on his features. Sometimes the fire can show a man what he truly craves – and Ciel emitted the aura of one who desired to be consumed by it.

After banking the fire and organizing papers in the master’s study, I walked to his bedroom. The fire was stoked and a grate placed over it so the light would not keep the master awake. A freshly pressed outfit was laid on the bench by the foot of the bed. Turning down the covers, Ciel’s scent wafted from the linens: musk, honey and jam, bergamot, lavender. A new essence accompanied his usual bouquet, a musk that was redolent of prurience. Being honest with myself, I found it intoxicating.

The young master had no inkling of the depth of our bond, an occult vinculum that tethered us. When he demanded of me five years ago to be given as much power as possible, that sealing of our infernal covenant, he had little idea of all of its implications. I too was given as much influence over him as he over me. Being the sly devil, would one honestly think I would divulge all the conditions of the agreement?

The boy never asked, so I never saw fit to tell him.

I sensed his relaxation in the bath, but soon there was a shivering, a quickening. His heart palpitated, not as though distressed, but in anticipation, tension mounting. I saw the rosy tint on his chest, his cherub face strained by his own pleasure. My speculation was confirmed; this was his reason for wanting privacy. Was he too ashamed to admit his natural, carnal inclinations?

It was then the word escaped his lips, silent and breathy, but to me it rang as clear as a bell.

“… Sebastian!”

My body tensed from the force of his release. My acute perceptions felt the heat of the young man’s flesh, smell the sweetness of the blood that coursed through his flushed skin, and taste the tang of the sweat on his brow. In a flash these sensations left me.

My normal response to his call would have been to present myself, but I sensed no urgency on his part: utter relaxation, contentment, and… the slightest twinge of guilt. It seemed prudent to not answer his beckon for me.

_This is unexpected,_ I thought to myself. Having never allowed myself to venture a thought to this prospect, I had resigned to a reality where I could not indulge in carnal lust with this contractor. Now it appeared that such a possibility could be feasible, even advantageous.

He sauntered into the bedroom, towel dried, and in the night clothes I had set out for him. The fatigue in his features indicated he was quite ready for bed, except his hair was still sopping wet. Procuring a towel from the armoire nearby, I said, “My dear master, you cannot hope to sleep with your hair in such a state. I would hate to see you catch your death.” He walked to the bedside table to set down his oil lamp he had carried from the bathroom, only to cross his arms in that defiant manner.

As I approached, he grabbed the towel out of my hands and worked it over dripping, tangled locks. His frostiness was surely due to crankiness, I reasoned. My palm settled on his shoulder, steering him to the bed. “Please allow me.” The young master had not yet taken off his eye patch. What a ridiculous child; he had worn the blasted thing in the tub. Tugging at the ends of the bow, the wet ribbons gave a slight resistance.

Ciel plunked down on the exposed mattress and cut me that sneering look, his violet right eye gleaming in the warm yellow lamplight. “Why must you always dote on me?”

After laying the eye patch next to the lamp, I seized the towel. “Ever since the master has requested this treatment. Might I remind you, it has been such for a number of years.” Looming over him so as not to skirt away, I blotted at wet hair.

He huffed in that impatient manner of his. “Well I… don’t know if I need your pampering.”

The towel was tossed aside and opening the drawer in the bedside table, I reached for a comb. “I did not think it was ever a matter of need, young master.” A smirk crept to the corners of my lips.

The boy slumped with a look of frustration. He very well knew how much he had grown accustomed to my doting, and the comfort it brought. It was always a matter of want with him; he preferred the attention. I did not mind paying it.

My gentle voice suggested, “I will comb your hair.”

A mild flush of red seethed on his cheeks, but he did not disagree. How could such a simple gesture warrant this reaction? Amused, I pondered if it I could get away with giving him a real reason to blush.

Then I decided to do something I had never done before. I sat behind him on the bed.

He smelled of musk and lavender and a fresh sweat beaded on his forehead. He knew just how unprofessional I was acting. He also knew that I was extremely close and did not know what to feel about me combing the unruliness from his hair.

The lamp light reached only to the corners of the bed, constraining a large room to feel closeted, as if there was only enough room for the two of us to occupy the dim space. All there was to be heard was the master’s soft yet quick breathing, and the welcoming crackle of the fire. Most humans hate this sort of awkward silence, yet I revelled in the uneasiness.

“Sebastian, why don’t you take your gloves off while doing that?” Ciel said with hesitation.

“While I am combing your hair?” I was only slightly surprised by the suggestion.

“It just seems… well, don’t you just hate the feeling of wet gloves?” I snickered. Only my master would be keen to point out life’s little discomforts. He turned and glanced at me with those mismatched eyes. Focusing on his blind right eye, I saw his arcane thoughts: the shame, the yearning for something that he was either too afraid to admit or too ignorant to comprehend. He wanted something from me, but was uncertain of how to formulate a request.

Setting the comb in my lap, I pulled the gloves off with my teeth. They were folded and secured in a breast pocket before continuing to work. My naked fingers combed through a few locks of hair… _I could seriously get lost in this_ , I fancied. Jet nails grazed against the back of the boy’s neck and his calm exterior could not mask the hot pulse that surged through him, coupled with laboured breathing from high in his chest. It was only proper for a butler to be wearing gloves when handling the master in these private matters, and now I understood why. This was far too indecent for good, English gentlemen, but then again, I never considered myself any of those things.

In need of some distraction, Ciel declared, “Sebastian, I have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“I haven’t a valentine for Lizzie.”

“Oh, that _is_ a problem,” I chuckled.

Ciel was not at all looking forward to Elizabeth’s stay for Valentine’s Day. It was not so much that he did not care for the girl, even if he considered her too ebullient for his low key character at times. For the young lady, Valentine’s Day was comparable to Christmas.

“Never mind that, young master,” In order to set the comb on the table, I had to lean in a little too close. “As far as Lady Elizabeth is concerned, I will procure a valentine for you to gift to her.”

“But this still doesn’t solve the situation concerning my work.”

“You work yourself hard enough. You do not seem in a calm enough state for sleeping.” I ventured, “Perhaps you would care for a massage?” It was true that I wished the Earl be well-rested, but that is not to say I did not want another excuse to touch him. The tense muscles in his shoulders begged for some relief.

He turned himself to face me. “What are you playing at?”

“I wish for you to be well rested for tomorrow. Also, you have been hunched over your desk for most of the day.”

For a moment he eyed me suspiciously, and then conceded with a nod. Turning away, he unbuttoned the front of his nightshirt, and slipping his arms through the top, he let the gown pool around his waist. I beheld the ivory flesh, marred solely by the brand he received years ago. With slight hesitation my hands spread over tight shoulders. Kneading with light touch a breathy moan escaped his lips.

“You have been holding so much stress here for the last couple of days.” Ciel moved to lie on his stomach. “So, the young master permits me to relieve him of this tension.” Having full access to his back permitted me to work deeper into the tissue.

The skin grew pink, increased circulation, from the pressure of my pale hands. “You have this knot—" I pressed down just underneath the left shoulder by the base of the neck and he hissed. When I released, he exhaled, the muscles relaxing in tandem. “How unfortunate that the young master should work himself so hard…” He was like clay in my hands, willing to be forced into whatever form I wanted. He whimpered from the pain I exerted, and sighed when I released my grip.

Plying along the spine that raised the skin, I reached his waist. He turned his face away from me and the lamp light. A sharp nail grated down that white surface above his hips and he shuddered. When I performed the action once more with more force he attempted to stifle a yelp. There was no doubt that this was an erogenous zone, and here I was trailing my bare hands over it. Open palms found purchase on the small of his back, taking in the sensation of his heat. He moaned into his pillow, and I was amazed by how a simple gesture could affect him so. To smell the arousal in his skin… it was all I could do to not pursue this further.

Muffled by the pillow, he muttered, “Are you quite finished?”

“I suppose I can be.” The boy sat up and faced me with his bare chest, the night shirt still pooled around his hips. “I hope you feel relaxed enough after that.” I helped him lift the night wear up and insert his arms into the sleeves.

“Hardly.” Ciel began fumbling with his buttons.

“Allow me,” I said in response to his apparent difficulty. Making quick work of the buttons, I made sure to let a finger slip across his collarbone, acting as though I had not noticed the hitch in his breath.

“Sebastian, I would prefer to start dressing and bathing myself,” he declared.

“Very well.” _Let him have what he wants and see what comes of it_.

Silence remained stiff in the air as Ciel’s gaze grew more resentful. “You don’t think I can manage – do you?”

“I imply nothing of the sort.” Gloves were pulled from my pocket and I slipped them back on my tingling hands. I rose from the bed as Ciel shifted into the covers. Picking up the lamp and used towel, I headed to the door.

“Goodnight, young master.”

Before I could close it behind me— “Sebastian.”

“Yes, young lord?”

He hesitated. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

_Damn it all. I cannot tell lies._

“Yes.” That answer would have been complete. “Very much, in point of fact,” and then door was drawn shut.


	2. Chapter 2

The young master dug his foot into the gravel as Elizabeth’s carriage came to a stop in front of the manor. Glancing with scorn at his juvenile fidgeting, I resented having to waste my time oiling and polishing those shoes once more. A trying morning had already irritated me.

Shortly after sunrise, I tapped on his bedroom door before entering. For the past few years it had been customary for me to walk in, announce my “good morning” and sweep open the curtains. Seeing as how Ciel wanted to be a little more independent in his morning and evening rituals, I felt it best not to be so intrusive. When no stirring could be heard, I knocked louder.

“Master, it is time for you to get up,” I called through the door. This felt most peculiar, I thought, standing outside his room like I had no business entering. Opening the door to peek in my head, the boy was lying on his stomach, tangled among his bed linens. This was an indication that he did not get the best-quality sleep the night prior. With a muffled whine, Ciel flopped over so he would not face me at the entrance.

“This is completely futile,” I grumbled to myself. Striding over to the window opposite his bed, I jerked open the curtains. “You have a big day ahead of you, young master,” I chirped, trying very hard to remove the budding irritation from my tone. Upon the light flooding the room, the boy retreated under his covers and gave an incoherent bellow of defiance against the beginning of a new day.

“Would you care for your morning tea?”

“Hnnn… yes, three sugars, please.”

“Well, breakfast is waiting for you in your study. I assumed you wanted to finish up a bit of work before Lady Elizabeth arrives. Get dressed and you may have your tea.” As I marched to the exit, the boy flung the covers from him.

“What is this? Where is my tea, Sebastian?”       

“As I said, it is in the study.” He grabbed a pillow and hurled it at me. Catching it was by no means difficult. “My lord, we do not have time for games. Please get dressed before your meal gets cold.”

In the study was a trolley that carried poached eggs benedict and crumpets, slices of cured ham spiced with clove and a delicate Darjeeling tea. There was the perception that I would have some resistance from the young master with this change in routine. Regardless of whether he asked for it or not, he was used to being spoiled, especially when it came to setting him right in that first hour of the morning.

When the boy entered the study a few minutes later, it took quite a bit of will to refrain from laughing at him. His hair was dishevelled, his tie was crooked, and his shirt was poorly tucked. He missed one of his buttons when buttoning his shirt and one of his stockings was not secure.

“Young master, did you tie a knot in one of your shoelaces?” I covered my mouth, because I could not resist grinning.

“Shut up,” he growled between clenched teeth.

The only thing on his person he managed to secure with proficiency was that eye patch. “Come here and let me fix you.” He stomped over as I pulled a comb out of my jacket pocket. I slipped off the eye patch, combed down his hair, adjusted every fold, tucked every edge, and within a minute he was respectable-looking.

He glared with that cerulean eye as I pulled his chair out from his desk and gestured him to sit. “No _massage_ this morning, Sebastian?” Setting his breakfast in front of him, he slumped into his seat.

“I hardly think that is appropriate at this time, seeing as how you should be refreshed this morning and I have no time to indulge you.” So this _was_ the reason for this short temper. Conflicting feelings had that effect on him, but addressing these matters had to wait.

After pouring a cup and I handed it to him. He looked at the teacup. “I said I wanted three sugars.”

“Young master, please forgive me for being outright, but you are being a little difficult this morning.” I obliged him with plucking three cubes out of the sugar bowl and dropping them in his cup. The sugar tongs clanged as I set them back on the trolley with a little too much force.

Ciel clicked his tongue in frustration. “You splashed tea onto the saucer, you imbecile.”

“My apologies.”

He turned away with a wave of his hand. “Well, if you have such pressing matters, then leave me be and tend to them. I will call you when I’m done with my meal.”

I was grateful to be dismissed since there were quite a few chores that had not been seen to in preparation for Elizabeth’s arrival. Mey-Rin was instructed to set new sheets on the bed in the lady’s guest room and then dust the main parlour. Finny took the rugs outside to beat the dust from them. Baldroy was directed to start mixing ingredients for a sponge cake and a few custards, as well as pluck and dress a bird for the evening’s meal (of course, I told him not to set anything in the oven). Every effort was made to enhance Elizabeth’s special day with my young master.

Some would consider my efforts to be excessive, but I knew just how important this occasion was to the Lady Elizabeth. On the other hand, Ciel had grown to detest the holiday and its implications. When he was younger, the boy tolerated his fiancée’s affections. Over subsequent Valentine’s Day celebrations, much to his chagrin, the cards became gaudier, the expectations rose higher, and the affections were all the more suffocating.

To make matters worse, the boy did not possess any sense of delicacy in matters of romance. Last year, Lady Elizabeth asked him, “Can I expect a new pair of gloves for Valentine’s?” Being the boy who was ignorant of romantic English customs, he remarked that she probably had a pair for every Sunday until Pentecost. I thought the reply was quite witty, but I held back my laughter due to the tears brimming in Lady Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Don’t you know? You are supposed to give gloves to your true love on Valentine’s Day as a marriage proposal. If she wears them on Easter Sunday, then she accepts!” The innocent girl explained.

My young master crossed his arms. “But I’m already engaged to you. Why would I want to participate in a commoner’s custom?”

Lady Elizabeth burst into tears. “Ciel, you are just so impossible sometimes!” With that, she stormed out of the room.

Ever since that episode, the young master sought to placate the girl’s expectations. Despite some of his more extravagant efforts, I could see that Ciel did not extend these gestures out of a deep romantic love for the young lady. This dishonesty towards the girl was a little more than irritating to me. It is not to say my irritation was due to Ciel’s dishonesty toward his fiancée, but rather his dishonesty with himself. I sought to bring this fact to his attention in a most uncomfortable manner: by being a most perfect butler.

Opening her carriage door, I extended my hand so that Lady Elizabeth could exit. As soon as both feet were on the ground she bounded towards her fiancé in her usual jubilant fashion. Ciel attempted to give his most charming smile despite his predilection to spend his time engaged with more worthwhile business.

“Oh Ciel, I’m so happy to be spending Valentine’s Day here! You’ll just love what I have for you!” Elizabeth held fast to the Earl’s arm.

The colour drained from his face as he realized, _‘I don’t have a valentine for Lizzie!’_ He glared in my direction, so as not to alert the young lady of anything. As I walked past the two I gave him a quick wink, ensuring that I had everything under control.

I opened the door to the manor and bowed as they entered. “Would tea in the parlour be sufficient?”

The two ambled across the chessboard floor of the foyer. “Oh, Elizabeth do you remember how much you enjoyed the trip to France last fall?”

“Yes, it was so very romantic. The French have a real eye for beauty, don’t they?” Elizabeth replied.

“Well, it inspired me to have my main parlour redecorated for you to enjoy whenever you come to visit.”

Elizabeth gasped as I opened the door to the parlour. It had been transformed from dark, drab and austere into a fanciful, Rococo-inspired salon, of sorts. Dark panelling had been replaced with white-washed moulding, powder-blue walls and gilded rocaille-style ornamentation. The golden accents repeated themselves in the cornice around the ceiling, softening the linear planes of the room. Wainscot panelling also stretched around the length of the room, adding to its elegance. The light from the large French-style windows was amplified by large gilded mirrors that hung on the opposite wall. A quaint, romantic painting of a pastoral scene hung as the room’s focal point.

“This room is so precious!” She darted about to have a better look at the upholstery. The room was furnished with elaborately carved chairs and couches, cushioned in gentle pastels. Side tables were adorned with brass figures and fresh lilies from the greenhouse. An elegant piano illuminated with hand-painted roses stood in the corner. Every object was bulging with intricacy, curving into fanciful forms, demanding that the lady gaze upon the room’s every facet. It was a model of femininity.

“Ciel, I love this painting!” she exclaimed, pointed to the framed work. “Who is the artist?”

“Boucher,” he replied, “and while I don’t care for the obscenity of a lot of his work, this one felt appropriate for the room.” I could not help but smirk at the comment. The English are so very stuffy when it comes to their preferences. Even though the room was decorated in a very Rococo style, the earl’s very Victorian sentiments would not allow him to ornament this room to a level the French would have desired in the previous century. It was a style of decadence and reverie, bordering on wanton excess. For propriety’s sake, the young master decided it was best to tone it down in a most British manner. As a result, the room lacked a cohesion that was evident in true French Rococo.

Regardless, many of his associates who gazed upon the room found the decoration to be superfluous, old-fashioned and distastefully un-British. Ciel stood by his desire to make up a room for Elizabeth, at which point said-associates would gush at his charming endeavours.

Standing next to the earl, we watched as the lady observed every corner and ornament of the room. A small trinket box was pulled from my pocket and I handed it to Ciel. “I believe you left this upstairs, young master.”

He understood the gesture, brow wrinkling as he caught the mischievous glint in my eyes. “Sebastian, do you have tea prepared?”

“Most certainly.”

Excusing myself, I went to the kitchen to retrieve my trolley. All manner of treats were prepared for the couple, including a sponge cake layered with canned cherries from the previous season, a bakewell tart, and some dainty sandwiches. For tea, I found a most delicate jasmine and hibiscus tea that would pair with the sugary fare. An elaborate silver tea pot and floral tea set was chosen to match the ambience of the parlour.

Elizabeth squealed and clapped her hands as I entered the room with this sumptuous display. While the girl was maturing into a decorous young woman, there was no doubt that she would never lose her exuberance. The two sat on the exquisite green couch in the centre of the room.

“I know that tea hasn’t been served, but I cannot stand waiting any longer. I must give you your valentine, Ciel.” Elizabeth reached into a pocket in her dress and pulled out a small parcel trussed in ribbons and bows. The boy accepted it with a faint smile, pulled at one of the ribbons to reveal a small frame. It contained an embroidered work: small love poem illuminated with flowers, densely stitched with vibrant thread. Its craftsmanship expressed all the care and devotion Elizabeth held for her betrothed. I poured tea for the lady and handed it to her. She accepted her cup but took no sip, anticipating Ciel’s reaction.

“This is your work?” She nodded enthusiastically. “It’s lovely, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you! I’ve taken a liking to this craft. Mother said she wouldn’t have me painting.” She took a sip of her tea. “May I have another sugar, Sebastian?” I obliged.

The young master paid me no notice as I handed him his tea. “Is that so?” Elizabeth’s gift was placed on the table. He expressed just enough interest in the trifle token to placate his fiancée.

“Yeah, something about how the current state of the arts is misguiding so many otherwise proper ladies.”

“I wonder what aunt means by that, precisely.”

The young lady turned to the painting. “Do you think it has something to do with obscenities?” She said the word with a trace of intrigue. I cleared my throat. “Sebastian, would you know something on the matter?”

“Yes, Francois Boucher, the artist who painted that,” I pointed to the pastoral scene, “was a very successful painter, well known among the court of Louis XIV. If you remember your history, you know the French aristocracy of the time was rich beyond anything imaginable, and this luxury did lead to over-indulgence and eventually a decay of morality.” Ciel rolled his eyes, but the girl was entranced by my lecture. “Some of his paintings were rather provocative, many of which were commissioned by various members of court.”

I kneeled in closer, as if divulging a most scandalous piece of gossip. Elizabeth played along, in her girlish curiosity. “One such painting was a portrait of Marie-Louis O’Murphy, who won the favour of the King as she was painted as lying prostrate over a—“

“That’s enough, Sebastian,” the young master barked. He took a sip of his tea. “You should know better than to speak of such things to a young lady. And if aunt hears of what her daughter is learning when she comes to visit…” Elizabeth giggled.

The young lady brought her attention back to the young earl. “Where’s my valentine, Ciel?” She sat down her teacup on the gilded coffee table and held her hands in her lap in a most saccharine fashion.

The young master pulled the pink satin box out of his breast pocket, failing to catch my knowing smirk. He was foolish to hand her a trinket box of which he did not know its contents. There were times when I believed Ciel placed too much trust in my judgments.

Elizabeth seized the gift in a manner that would have been considered less than polite. She gasped upon opening it. “Oh Ciel!” Out of the box she pulled a love knot brooch, brilliantly delicate and of a fine karat. The young master’s face drained of all colour upon seeing it.

Ciel never gave any specification as to what kind of valentine Elizabeth should receive. He also never gave any instruction on how I might procure this gift. I remembered the small trinket box being locked away in a cabinet in some never-used room – along with a few other treasures he discovered at the house in London. They were belongings of his parents that he wanted to forget but could not bring himself to discard.

Ciel remembered the love knot being a present to his mother; it was one of the first gifts his father gave to Rachel. Angelina, the boy’s late aunt, had recounted the story to Ciel that summer afternoon all those years ago.

Elizabeth knew nothing of the origins of the romantic finery, but she understood the implications of the gift. It was a token to express the deep and unshakeable love of the giver. By Ciel bestowing this love knot, he was giving his heart to the young woman. Sure, it was a little old-fashioned, but the sentiment was by no means lost on that love sick girl.

The young woman lunged across the couch to grab her fiancé in a tight hug. “Lizzie, please—” the boy gasped.

“I had always hoped you felt this way towards me!” Elizabeth looked up at Ciel, and he managed to mask his surprise at the young lady’s forthcoming and indecent behaviour.

_How are you going to play this one, young master?_ I wondered. He did not want to see Elizabeth wear that brooch; it was too associated with the memory of his mother. He could not take it back, nor could he take back the gesture of giving it to her. His only plausible course of action was to have his demeanour be consistent with this gift.

Ciel patted the girl on the shoulder, and sat her upright on the couch, like a good gentleman would. “I feel like…” the boy stammered, sounding as if he were sorting through his words, “It’s difficult, Lizzie. You know, when one has a particular feeling, and he cannot help but be afraid of it.” I busied myself with the tart, setting a piece for each on the coffee table next to the now-forgotten tea.

I had the impression he was not referring to any feeling he had for his fiancée.

The young man continued, “I have lost too many I have cared for.” Elizabeth stared into that watery blue eye, silent for the feeling of inadequacy, as she had no experience to relate, nothing to match any semblance of heartache.

The young lady started slowly, “Are you saying you’re afraid of the feelings you have for me because you don’t want to lose me?” In response, the earl looked away, his lip quivering. _My goodness, he certainly knows how to put on a show when the occasion calls for it,_ I thought. This action was a façade to convince Elizabeth of some highly tuned women’s intuition.

Elizabeth reached to caress the boy’s face, a lady’s touch swathed in lace. The gesture was nothing but compassionate. Ciel tried to soften to the gesture, but I felt him grappling with this hidden balancing act he was playing out for his fiancée.

“It pleases me that my gift makes you so happy, Lizzie.”

“Everything you do for me pleases me.” Her expression brightened, with the need to dispel all hint of melancholy from the occasion. She pointed to the piano in the corner. “I have been practicing, quite a bit. Would you like me to play for you, Ciel?”

The young earl grinned. “Most certainly.”

She jumped from the couch and skipped to the piano. Lowering herself onto the bench, she arranged the folds of her dress as a young woman learned in etiquette would. The gloves were pulled off finger by finger and stored in a skirt pocket. After testing a few of the keys, the lady announced, “Today’s selection is Schumann’s Arabesque, opus eighteen in C major.”

The melody started with a flutter of notes, the girl’s ungloved hands summoning the melody from the instrument.

Ciel gave his attention to the performance for a moment, before looking in my direction. He motioned me over, and then placed a palm to mine. ‘ _Do you understand what you did?’_

_‘Are you referring to the valentine?’_

_‘What else would I be referring to, you idiot?’_ I saw the irritation brimming.

_‘In my opinion, young master, I believe it was a perfect idea. I am sorry you disagree.’_

He sighed. _‘We’ll discuss this later.’_

We both listened to Elizabeth give her private recital. The song was very suitable for her in some ways: controlled, feminine, fanciful at times, but with an underlying yearning. There were moments where the song swelled into a lively refrain, and then drifted into deeper chords. She played the allegro with technical grace, but when the music shifted into its more wistful passages her energy did not falter to meet them. When moments called for hesitation, to place emphasis on a pensive tone, she passed through them with the equal fervour, thus failing to capture all the subtlety of the piece.

My young master gave only enough attention to be considered polite, but his thoughts wandered to some preoccupation. He tried to capture a facet of the song’s story that he could attach to his own experiences and found the endeavour futile. Elizabeth’s song only related to her own dolefulness, being as shallow and transient as the puddle after the storm.


	3. Chapter 3

My young master experienced the greatest sense of relief when Elizabeth finally retired for the evening. Between the dancing and the dinner, Ciel was begging for a respite from the young lady’s relentless attention.

“Oh my, it’s been a long day, and I have to leave tomorrow,” she yawned. The lady rose from the dinner table and her fiancé followed suit. “Goodnight, Ciel. Sweet dreams.” She scuttled over to the earl and embraced him before leaving for her personal guest room. Mey-Rin, standing in the corner of the dining room, accompanied the lady to see to her needs. Elizabeth was not two feet outside before Ciel collapsed into his chair.

If tea that afternoon had not been enough of a trial, dinner proved to be the earl’s true test in patience. The Lady Elizabeth grew all the more affectionate as the afternoon progressed, culminating into an evening meal that even exceeded the girl’s romantic expectations.

The finest tablecloth was draped over the dining room table and in the center a masterfully arranged centerpiece of orchids, crocuses, violets and snowdrop was on display. Ivory candles illuminated the dining area in rows of standing brass candelabras, polished to perfection. The finest china was laid for a four-course meal, its pinnacle being roast duck in an orange glaze.

It was almost too much romance for Lady Elizabeth to stand, and her endearment bubbled over onto Ciel in a most humorous manner. She was incessant in her attempts to play with his feet under the table. She made every effort to hold his hand during the meal. Batting her eyelashes, she always tried to steer the conversation towards talk of weddings and marriage. Before dinner, Elizabeth wore her brooch and would not stop fawning over how well it matched her outfit. While I was thoroughly amused, my young master was to a point of desperation, and what little Chablis was left in the decanter was proof of this. As a result, Ciel dug himself into a hole from which he would not be able to climb.

Between the main course and dessert, Elizabeth remarked, “You know, I was thinking, you haven’t hosted a party in a long time, Ciel.”

“Excuse me?”

She twisted her fingers in trepidation. “I mean, when was the last time you’ve thrown a ball? If there’s ever a time to start thinking about such things, now would be it. The season for it always creeps up out of nowhere, don’t you agree?”

It was not as though the boy could deny any request made by this young woman. Ciel took a sip of his wine, and the glass was promptly filled by Mey-Rin. I scowled her, communicating that he was refreshed well-enough. Slinking back, her face flushed.

“Are you suggesting I host a party just because you want one?” _Oh dear_ , _the young master is becoming too brash for all the wine he is drinking_ , I thought.

“Not in the slightest! You can make it a charity ball, and the money for admission will be for a worthy cause.”

“My word, Lizzie, that’s actually a good idea,” the earl stated, as though her novel ideas were a rare occurrence. He took another swallow of wine. “I’ll tell you what. I will contact the Queen about this and ask if there is a cause she feels is in of need of phil… philanthropy.” That last word sounded a little too difficult for the master.

Now that she had vacated the room, my young master sat solitary at the table, the consequence of his words seeping into his mildly intoxicated mind. Ciel did not do well with parties, and now he was obligated to prepare for one in the coming season. He motioned to the remnants of dinner on the table. “Sebastian, have Bardroy clean this up. I’ll be in my smoking lounge. Bring the brandy.”

“Yes, my lord.” _As if he needs more alcohol_ , I contemplated.

The lounge was a small den off of the billiard room, adjacent to a cozy parlour complete with a wet bar. Young master would frequent it to unwind after particularly trying days. While I considered it a filthy habit, tobacco had the effect of calming an otherwise short-tempered boy. I anticipated the brandy would make him even more agreeable.

After a quick trip to the kitchen to give my orders to Bardroy and Finnian, to the bar I went. The 1864 vintage was procurred, stored in a glass decanter, and I carried this with a small cordial for brandy. Ciel was sitting in his leather burgundy chair, a lamp next to him on the side table. He took a pinch of tobacco out of the glass jar sitting nearby and tamped it into his pipe, a very fine James Upshall. He lit a match and puffed before waving out the stick and disposing of it in the ashtray.

I poured his glass. “Your brandy, young master.” He swirled the dark amber liquid, taking in its thick scent, and took a sip. For a moment he was silent, placing the tip of the pipe in his mouth, slowly inhaling, pausing, followed by another sip. His right elbow leaned on the arm of his chair, cradling the pipe at the bowl. As he clutched at the glass of brandy, he stared at a fixed point on the dark panelling of the wall, his eye unfocused, reflecting the many thoughts crowding his mind.

“Would you like me to leave you to your privacy?”

“No.” I would have been lying if I did not consider this an invitation to pry.

He turned his attention to me as I stood idle. “Sebastian, sit.” He gestured to the chair across from him and I obliged. Surely whatever he wanted to discuss would involve his irritation with me.

“Young master, may I inquire as to why you are so tense?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” He took a puff of his pipe.

“So am I to conclude that you are angry with me?”

Ciel nearly spilt his brandy. “Of course I’m angry with you! What were you thinking with that Valentine for Elizabeth? I want to know, and do not skirt around the matter. I have no patience for your schemes right now.”

The boy took another drag off his pipe. A slight haze was beginning to fill the duskish room. The master’s smoking habit was not one of his more pleasing fixations because the smell would saturate his clothes, his hair, his skin. I preferred he did not smell like ash.

“Well, master, it is rather simple. I needed to procure a gift that could compensate for your lack of interest in the young lady.” In response, he took another sip of brandy. “To be honest, you really do not give her much affection at all.”

“So what if I don’t?”

I leaned back, a reaction to the boy’s defensive remark. “Well, she is your fiancée.”

“Well, a gentleman should not be so overbearing in his affections.”

“It is one thing to be reserved in one’s affections, but you, on the other hand, are plainly aloof.” He glared at me with a heavily lidded eye. “More brandy?”

The glass was held out to me. Grasping it, I rose and filled it from the decanter sitting on a tray in the corner. “Sit it on the table,” He ordered as I offered him the glass. He inhaled from his pipe once more before setting it on the rest of the ashtray. He grabbed another pipe from the petite pipe rack next to his lamp. With this fresh pipe he repeated the same series of motions, filling and lighting it with the automaticity only seen in a smoker. Ciel propped his feet on a cushioned ottoman in front of the chair.

“Are you comfortable, young master?”

“Well enough,” he muttered. He reached for his glass and gulped. “I think you should be aware that my feelings and the motives behind my actions toward Elizabeth are really none of your business.”

“I apologize if I gave the impression that I was prying into your relationship with Elizabeth.” Leaning forward in the subdued lamplight, I was certain he caught the glint of my eyes. “I personally have no interest in how you engage the young woman, but I am interested in why you would insist on being dishonest with yourself.”

“I beg your pardon?”

My hands rested on the arm rests of his chair, his personal space being encroached. “Surely your lack of affection towards Elizabeth is not the problem but rather a symptom of something far greater that is causing you distress.” His increased breath smelled of brandy and tobacco and he fidgeted, feeling the pressure of my intense gaze. “Is young master hiding something? Is the secret so shameful that he would even hide it from himself?” Of course I was hinting at his act of self-alleviation the night before, but I would not dare to suggest I knew of it.

“Do not lecture me on the subject of shame, Sebastian.” He inhaled from his pipe and blew the smoke in my face. Wisps curled from his lips. “It is bad form to speak of things you know nothing about.”

“So you are suggesting that you could enlighten me on the subject?”

Ciel gazed into the flame of the oil lamp, averting his eye. For once he could not counter with any caustic quip. That solitary cobalt eye glazed over as his mind treaded into that same obscure place of longing. He licked his lips in concentration, attempting to determine just what emotions were safe, and which were not. What would he allow himself to admit and what was too dangerous to divulge?

I took the glass from his trembling hand. “Perhaps you would like one more glass?”

Young master did not need any more; I could see the lack of focus in the boy’s vision and the ruddiness of this face. The brandy compounded with the wine from earlier would surely lead to a painful morning for Ciel. No matter; the next day’s schedule was clear, aside from seeing off Elizabeth after brunch. Oh my, I thought, it would take a great effort to clean up this boy so she would not suspect anything.

“Young master?” I brought his attention back to me, still towering over his small frame.

“Yes, more brandy, please.”

“How very polite.”

I straightened to fill his glass. The boy reached for his first pipe, checking to see if it had cooled. After emptying the contents of the bowl in the tray, he pulled off the stem. He was handed the cordial, and he took a deep swallow before setting the it on the table. From a small pouch next to his pipe collection, he procured a pipe cleaner, dipped it in his brandy glass, and ran it through the length of the pipe stem.

Honestly, only a wealthy noble would use some of his best brandy to clean his most expensive pipes. For some reason, the young master would prefer this chore himself, as though there is a meditative component to the act. I sat back down in the chair across from him. After a moment of silent pipe cleaning, Ciel set down his work.

“I know I said it was not your business, but you are right, Sebastian. I hate having to admit it. I care for my fiancée; that has never changed. She’s family. But I feel no deep desire for her.”

“You hate to admit that you feel no passion for Elizabeth.”

“No, it’s admitting that you are right in your observations.”

I could not stifle a chuckle. He bristled in anger at my finding amusement at his expense. In response, he picked up his glass and threw its remaining contents at me.

The strong-scented liquid soaked into the wool coat and stained the pristine white shirt underneath. Supressing my irritation, I managed to murmur, “Well, that was rude.”

Glowering at me, he rose and soon realised such an action was a bad idea after too much to drink. “Damn it—” Ciel clutched at the chair, barely catching himself from staggering to the side.

“Oh dear, young master, you are in quite a state.” I rose to hold up the boy.

“You’re one to talk, Sebastian. You’re a mess,” he chuckled. This was most unusual for the young master, but spirits would have that effect.

“Would you dismiss me so I may clean myself, which I should mention, is a result of your outburst?”

Ciel shook his head in response, which he immediately learned was not a good idea either. I led the boy to the couch against the wall. “Lie here and I will fetch you a glass of water.”

“No, really, I’m all right, just…”

“…just inebriated.”

“Oh, to hell with you.” Young master rubbed his temples, staring at the ceiling. “Sebastian, get these shoes off me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The ottoman was pulled close to the couch and I proceeded to unfasten the buckles of his shoes. He had scuffed the side of one from stumbling to lounge. This was the opportunity I was waiting for. After shoes were arranged to the side, I decided it was only fitting to rid him of his stockings as well.

“I didn’t ask you to take off _those_.”

“But you looked flushed, young master.” Perhaps he caught the cossetting quality of my remark as I pulled off my gloves. “Besides, I could not indulge you earlier, but I believe that circumstances allow me this now.”

“And what circumstances are those?”

“Little lord, the manor is quiet, I have no pressing matters, and to be honest, you are quite helpless.”

“So you feel inclined to take advantage of that.”

I took one of his feet into my bare hands and pressed a thumb into the arch. “Young master, I believe there is a small part of you that wishes for it.” He attempted to straighten up but that only made him feel more disoriented. “Please relax, young master. I know your feet must be sore after wearing those shoes all day,” I purred.

“This is completely unnecessary.”

I continued to knead thick flesh. “And yet you are not protesting.” Working a finger between each toe, I gently flexed his foot forward, back, around. He sighed as I squeezed behind his ankle. His head drifted to the side, his breathing relaxed. It was a marvel how such sinister hands could bring the young master such satisfaction.

“Hmmm… Sebastian?”

“Yes?”

“This is kind of nice.”

Lowering one foot, I lifted the other. “So you are enjoying this?”

“Okay, maybe a bit, but it’s a little strange.” Young master gave a small moan as I began to massage into the other heel.

Dark nails stroked the top of his foot. “I wonder, would Elizabeth do something like this for you?”

He laughed. “She probably thinks feet are not cute.”

His eye was closed, hands folded over his torso in contentment. Having him in this vulnerable position was too tempting to not exploit. “Young master, you have very attractive feet.”

With that, I planted a kiss on his arch, and the boy gasped. His eye shot open and the flush on his face grew deeper.

“Does young master enjoy that too?” My eyes were locked on his astonishment as I continued the gesture. He jerked as I nipped at his big toe, attempting to stifle a small yelp. His hand reached for his mouth, those lips shaped into an O. “I think he does like it,” I whispered.

“You cursed devil,” he swore from behind his hand.

“Too right.”

My tongue traced along the contour of that perfect arch, lips resting at the ball of his foot. The savory taste of his skin hinted at some dastardly inclination. He shuddered, his panting a symphony to my ears.

Mouth encircled his toes, my tongue winding around them. The boy’s hips dug into the couch. Up his calves my fingers crept. The hand that was covering his mouth before found its way to his neck where he proceeded to loosen his tie. With the other he grasped at his shirt, pulling it free from the band of his shorts. As I lapped at those curled toes, my young master moaned deeply, and I could tell how he parted his knees, how he swiveled his hips, how he leaned his head back… this was more than pleasurable for him. A heat was stirring in him, his desire intensifying. He could have more; I would give it to him.

What was most surprising to me was I felt myself wanting to engage in this pleasure as well.

“You still have not answered my question, young master.” His calves were cupped in my hands and I nipped at one of his knees.

“Nnn… ah… what was the question?” Ciel was drunk on more than alcohol it seemed. He pulled at the buttons of his shirt.

“Actually, I want to amend my question.” My tongue ran down his leg and his fingers dug into the couch, his body turning into a quivering mess. “Do you think Elizabeth _could_ do this for you?”

“I don’t want to think about her right now.”

Rising from the ottoman onto the leather couch, my knees dug into the cushions as I held the boy’s feet aloft. This position would grant me wonderful access to his rear, I thought. My tongue licked the length of his left foot, pressing with greed. His right foot was on my shoulder, my left hand on the underside of his thigh. Underneath his ashy scent, I smelled lust, the desire for abandonment. The boy’s back arched,his breath heavy. The blush began to rise on his chest beneath a now-unbuttoned shirt. His hands writhed by his hips, a bulge in his trousers, the uncertainty of whether to allow me to relieve it. My eyes glazed over, vision growing red; I could ravage this boy—

“Sebastian, stop!” I froze. Ciel gasped and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Get off me.”

Immediately I stood and stepped back from the couch. Oh dear, I thought, I over did it. To my relief, the young master was not infuriated; anything but. He sat up, cradling his head in his hands. “I have to go to bed.”

“Let me assist you.”

“I’ll make my way myself.” He tottered off the couch and stumbled to the door, the spirits still having its effect on him.

I stepped forward and took his arm. “Please allow me—” He slapped my hand away.

“I don’t need you to carry me to my quarters! Clean this room up. My pipes need a good cleaning too, all of them. And put your damn gloves back on.”

Obliging, I reached for the gloves in my front pocket. “Yes, my lord.”

My concern was that the young man would hurt himself on his way to his room, but I sensed he managed well enough. The decanter was returned to the bar, and the room was set to its original order.

As I was cleaning the pipes as I was told, I heard the boy’s moaning in the back of my mind, urgent and wanting. His heart beat accelerated, his body shuddering as he tended to the arousal that I incited in him only moments before. I saw him on the bed, propped on his elbows and knees, his trousers open as he pumped himself and panting, cursing me, cursing him, and his free hand clutching at the sheets.


	4. Chapter 4

Upon entering his quarters the next morning, I found the young master had not bothered to change into his night clothes, and had fallen asleep in yesterday's garb. Judging from his dreadful state, I knew this would be a difficult day for Ciel.

"Young master, it is time for you to get up." He did not respond. I proceeded to the window where I opened the curtains, flooding the room with morning light. A most pitiable groan erupted from the pillow as the little lord feebly attempted to hide in the crumpled sheets.

He croaked, "Sebastian, close that blasted curtain." I obliged.

"You must get up, for Lady Elizabeth will be attending brunch shortly, and you have little time to make yourself presentable."

"I couldn't give a damn about brunch." I felt it best to ignore his remark.

As Ciel rolled over I noticed the front of his shorts were unbuttoned, a reminder of his lustful actions of the previous night. After his climax, he did not even consider cleaning himself up, much less dress in proper night clothes. I decided for the moment that these issues were largely irrelevant when the young master's appearance was first priority.

I had come to the bedroom with a fresh-pressed outfit, something comfortable and unrestricted. I anticipated the boy to be out of sorts that morning and I was willing to provide as much assistance as needed to ensure his fiancée would not suspect any outrageous deviation in his behaviour. After laying the outfit on the bed next to him I pulled him upright. His head tilted back as if the strain of carrying his own weight was too much of a demand on his shoulders.

He moaned, "My head is pounding."

“I assure you that after I set you right a cup of tea will shortly follow.” Unbuttoning his shirt, I smelled a subtle, heady remnant from the night before. "First, you need to wash."

Even as he held his face in his hands, I saw the slight rose on his cheeks. "I do not think that will be necessary."

I lifted his head and untied the eye patch. "Young master, you smell of brandy." _Among other things,_ I silently jested. As I pulled off his undershirt, and he immediately brought his arms down to cover his chest.

"Are you cold? I am willing to accommodate my young master in any way necessary."

"Just shut up and make me presentable for Elizabeth."

I stood him up to remove his shorts.

Although I rolled up my sleeves, I thought it best to leave on my gloves. While it was slightly tempting to indulge myself, this was no time to take advantage of the boy's vulnerability. I led him into his private bathroom where a wash basin of warm water waited.

Ciel kept his eyes downcast. While one could say the light exacerbated his migraine, I knew he did not want me to see the shame written on his face. He smelled his own sex and therefor he very well knew I sensed the same.

Working with the calm indifference of a butler, I trailed a wash cloth over his goose pimpled flesh. Even though I worked quickly, my gloved hands were enough to bring a blush to the boy's face. Ciel stared in the corner of the tiled floor as a means of ignoring his growing arousal.

My washcloth migrated down his back to his rear and young master gasped. "Sebastian, that's enough, I really think I can finish washing myself. Turn around. I don't want you looking at me." My brief look of surprise dispelled, I turned around to give Ciel his space. He calmed his laboured breathing, now free to wash his lower half, water trickling in the basin as he wet the cloth. The air was thick, and I stiffened from this oppressive tension.

"Hand me a towel." I did so, and the boy turned from me as he dried himself. I took this opportunity to change my gloves and fetched a fresh pair of underclothes from his armoire in the adjacent dressing room. Shivering, Ciel modestly held a towel before him and I yanked it away from him. He could not be dressed if he was cowering like some prudish gentile. I knelt before him as he stepped into his breeches, his hand resting on my shoulder for support. Despite my young master's arousal, I refrained from staring at his crotch.

A loose-fitting top with billowing sleeves seemed an appropriate choice for today. Such a fashion was outmoded, but it was not as though the earl had to impress anyone other than Elizabeth. She would think of it as "cute." Ciel stepped into his proper trousers, and his hands curled into fists as I tucked in his shirt, having to reach under the band to do so. A thick wool waistcoat completed the outfit. I retrieved his comb from the vanity and set his hair right before returning his eye patch. He sat as I rolled the stockings up his pale legs. I dressed his feet in heeled shoes. Even for a boy his age, he still possessed a lithe figure, and I could not help but dote on him with some reverence.

He looked down at me with a severe cobalt gaze that cut as harsh as ice. Underneath this loathing flickered his curious desire, and it made my young master loathe himself more. I gave a cheerful grin and he sneered in response.

"I would really appreciate that cup of tea right about now, Sebastian."

"Tanaka is serving tea down stairs, my young lord."

Ciel groaned, resting his elbow on the chair as he cradled the side of his head. "Fine. Damn it." He rose with a heavy sigh.

Brunch, being held in the sunroom toward the rear of the manor, was a trial for the young master. I had prepared crepes with boysenberry preserves and potato quiche, and the boy could barely stomach it. Elizabeth, who was happily enjoying brunch, inquired to his reason for not eating.

"Oh, the food from last night was too rich, and it made my sleep most uncomfortable," young master lied.

Perhaps it was too cruel to have brunch in a room filled with windows that let happy sunlight stream in from all sides. Despite the barrenness of the English garden, the sky shone with a cheerfulness uncharacteristic for the season. It only exacerbated the poor master's nausea. As soon as he had partaken of just enough to be polite, he graciously excused himself from the table, leaving a dejected Lady Elizabeth by her lonesome.

She peered up at me, the ruffles of her traveling bonnet framing her angelic face. "If I may, my lady, you appear to be troubled."

She cast her sight downwards. "No, it's silly, really."

"I am not so sure, young miss. If you are troubled, that is reason enough for my concern." I placed my hand to my chest. "After all, as the young master's fiancée, I am just as much of a butler to you as I am to him."

From Lady Elizabeth's perspective, this was a true enough statement. From my perspective, I was not required to extend any sort of loyalty to this pure soul due to some trivial, human obligation between the pair. It benefited me to have her believe such a thing. "I most humbly assure you, anything you wish to divulge will be kept in confidence, my lady."

The young woman wrung her hands in her lap. "It's just... something seems amiss with Ciel this morning, like he had no interest in me. He seemed more than ill; His mind was elsewhere, and I can't help but think that this has something to do with me..."

"May I sit?" I gestured to the chair.

"Oh! Please."

Seeing as how Ciel could not wear a convincible mask that day, I took responsibility to ensure Lady Elizabeth's suspicions were dispelled. Sitting as an equal gave the impression that she could be level with me. While this gesture was a deviation from certain proprieties, Elizabeth in her fanciful manner would not adhere to them if they did not suit her.

I sat most upright, a leg crossed over the other. "You are correct, my lady, the young master is indeed off today, and I sincerely apologise for his behaviour. Please understand there is a lot resting on his shoulders at any given time. The stress of it preoccupies his mind."

"Sebastian, if Ciel is bothered by something I might have done, would you tell me?"

_Why is it that women believe all matters must revolve around them?_ I concealed this thought with a polite smile. "I can assure you that my lady has done nothing to offend the master."

"Then perhaps it is something I don't do." She nearly whispered. Concern knit her brows, and I realised this lady was indeed maturing into a young woman. This included all the passions and yearnings a young woman would naturally possess, despite what restrictions were placed on her out of some flimsy sense of decency. Of course, while she would never admit to it, her increased heartbeat, the scent of sweat on her palms, and the dilated pupils of her eyes spoke of her emotions.

"The young master does go out of his way to please you, quite happily, in fact."

"Yes, and I'm always grateful for these gestures, but there's something missing. I cannot say what it is that I want from him, especially when he already does so much for me."

_What should I suggest? She wants him to return the passion that she so often feels for him, but to outright suggest such a thing would come off as indecent_. I laced my fingers, looking intently at Elizabeth, and considering how best to convince her to drop the matter. The young master did not need her troubles further complicating his state of mind.

"My lady, the young master is a very proper gentleman, and has spoken to me on his feelings for you. When it comes to the engagement, your honour is his first priority, and your happiness his second." The young woman could interpret "feelings" in which ever manner she chose, for all I cared. "I can sympathise with your trouble, and I think it is valid to feel as you do." At this statement, she perked up. Women are rarely given permission to be free in their thinking. "But I implore you, please continue to be patient with him. I can assure you that your sense of decorum is what he finds most beautiful. Any man would be eager to be wed to such a virtuous young lady."

This innocent, endearing young woman’s eyes glistened with a sense of appreciation. Even at the age of sixteen she had the look of a china doll, rosy lips pressed into a restrained smile, her blonde curls bouncing as her shoulders shook to hold back her emotion. It was no wonder Ciel always felt so much guilt about her unrequited affections. He had to always endure seeing the effects of it.

She stood up, and I followed suit. "Thank you very much, Sebastian." A single tear fell down her cheek, and she quickly patted it away with her handkerchief that was tucked in her sleeve. "Would it be unbecoming of me if I were to tell you just how trusting I am of you?"

How her level of innocence never ceased to astound me. "I am flattered, my lady."

She closed the space between us and embraced me, a gesture of sweetness that I was not at all accustomed to. This girl poured love and compassion into all of her actions, wishing only to fill her world with this feeling. It takes a particular type of strength to continue such an outpouring of love in a place filled with so much despondency. Yet she was determined in this pursuit, and it forced me to wonder just how long she could continue this until she had no more left to give. What would cause this doll of a woman to shatter? These thought kept me preoccupied as I endured this detestable gesture from her.

She stepped back, looking rather cheerful. "I do believe that I should be getting ready to leave for home. Would you send up Mey-Rin to help me prepare my things?"

I bowed. "Yes, my lady. Also, I shall see that Finnian packs the carriage."

 

* * *

 

"You'll be sure to keep your valentine close, yes?" Elizabeth asked her fiancé with a cherub expression.

Young master looked perplexed for a moment, and then remembered yesterday's events. "Oh, yes, of course." Her crafted love note was still in the parlour. He had not given the poem any sort of thought, but the same could not be said for me. Having read it over, I found its words curious, and its meaning foreign.

The young lady took the boy's delicate, cold hands in hers. "I wanted to ask you earlier, but would you allow me to come and see you again soon? Perhaps next month? It would mean ever so much to me."

"Of course." He managed a smile, but how he shifted from one foot to the next, I knew that he desired his solitude. "I promise your visit next month will be even better. Hopefully the weather will be cheerful again. The gardens will start to show their green again."

"I would enjoy that."

Elizabeth released her hands and wrapped her arms around the boy’s shoulders. Ciel relented, mimicking the gesture, and the girl's embrace tightened. For a brief moment, she pulled back and their eyes met. While the young lady wished to lock eyes and fall into his gaze, the boy simply could not help but focus his sight beyond the confines of her hug.

Perhaps she was hurt by his subtle gesture. She might have interpreted it as Ciel just being Ciel. Either way, a precious smile adorned her bright face, and she bounded to the carriage, not bothering to take the assistance into its cabin.

"Goodbye, Ciel! Please write to me this week!"

"I will, Lizzie. Safe travels."

She replied with a tinkling laugh.

Ciel heaved a sigh of relief as he watched Elizabeth's carriage pull away from the house, leaving plums of dust in its stead. I stood by the door, trying not to appear voyeuristic, even if I was watching their brief exchange before her departure. When the carriage turned a bend and Ciel could no longer see it, he trudged across the drive and up the stairs.

"Sebastian, bring tea to my study." His features were hardened, and any attempts from me to pry would only cause him further frustration.

I bowed. "Very well, young master."

Many of our exchanges over the past few days followed a simple pattern. Young master gave a clipped order and expected my immediate obedience. This was his way of re-establishing a sense of control over the matters that clouded his mind. During this brief period of simple exchanges and awkward silences, I had plenty of opportunity to ponder over Ciel's attraction to me.

Despite his aloof disposition I sensed him cradling a longing. A simple gesture, an ambiguous statement, or a sly grin, could fan the flames. I would hand him a cup of tea, our eyes meeting for a brief moment and a surge of heat would cause his heart to palpitate. On one particular occasion my eyes flashed before him as I was taking a plate from the dinner table. He quickly excused himself and insisted on forgoing his gateau for the evening, a most uncharacteristic behaviour of the young master, indeed.

As I continued to play these subtle games with my young master, I found myself delighting in the prospect of him finally cracking under the pressure and giving in to his want. It was not going to extinguish itself, and no matter how hard he tried to quell it and to further aggravate his inner conflict amused me. At nights, I felt the boy pleasuring himself, trying to stifle his groaning from the release of pent up frustration. He would collapse in exhaustion, only to wake in the morning and have the same feelings resurface. Surely he didn't believe that his lust was some sort of ailment that simply needed to be purged from the body? Victorian sentiments would have one believe that simply ignoring a thing can make it go away, but I know that repression of desire is the very thing that fuels it. Is that not how lust works? His ever-growing frustration and futile attempt to shake off these feelings were too comical.

Thinking back to our exchange in the smoking room, I decided to acknowledge that I too had found pleasure in it. The boy's scent was tinged with corruption. This flavour was even more evident in his skin, as though his sinister nature seeped from his pores. The beauty of it was that the boy's wilfulness allowed him to maintain a comely and pleasing disposition. Few would ever be privy to the boy's true nature. This exotic occurrence, so rarely seen in humanity, was my entire reason for desiring the boy's soul. Even still, to have but a small hint of that unwholesomeness, like an appetizer before the meal, was reason enough for my wanting to give in to my own pleasure. Even still, I decided not to push the matter. The young master would crumble under the pressure of his own want in time.

I busied myself with maintaining order in the manor, keeping the other servants too preoccupied to notice Ciel's odd behaviour. If there was ever any sort of question, I could simply say that Ciel was immersed in his work, which was true. He kept himself cloistered in his study much of the time: making his correspondence calls with various factory managers, ensuring distribution of goods was in order for the upcoming season, balancing accounts. The young earl felt the necessary work was extraordinarily tedious, and often sought some respite from it.

The violin was a means for the young master to find some relief from the strain of business negotiations. Under my tutelage, I encouraged this one pursuit. Dancing was an utter failure. His attempt at painting was laughable. Even the piano proved too much for him. Despite his clumsy fingers (because he seemed to be clumsy in just about anything artful), the violin was so much more approachable for a boy of his nature. It is a unique instrument in that its strings will resonate with a player's disposition.

One afternoon as I was polishing the silver it became apparent that the young master achieved the ability to channel his feelings through such an instrument. From the music room sonorous, melancholic notes ripped through the air. At moments when his bow stilled in pensive hesitation, the air quivered. The sombre melody rang strongly, with tones that felt pushed rather than coaxed out of the instrument. This action would have felt abrasive, if not for the yearning sorrow imbued in every facet of his sonata.

_The silver can wait,_ I considered. I simply could not pass this opportunity.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I crept into the young master’s music room, staying to the shadows cast by a large oak cabinet. Ciel stood by the window to better read the sheet music on the stand. His face was taut with concentration, the look of a frustrated musician attempting to imbue his art with all the nuances of his longing and confusion. A steady stream of yearning, pleading melodies wailed from the violin, shoved with a bitter urgency. As he moved the bow across the strings he swayed into the swell, pressing into the rhythm of his song with desperation. With sensual motion, he cradled that instrument as if it was the only thing that could console him.

I leant against the cabinet, smelling dust, oil and antiquity from the patina of the cabinet’s doors. The room contained an eclectic mix of Tudor-style furniture, such tastes suiting the young earl. Benches lined the walls, squat and stiff, ornamented with linen fold motifs. Cabinets with ornately carved acanthus were used to house the young master’s games, for this parlour was also where he would take clients for chess. The table in the centre was fit with bulbous, heavy legs. Accompanying it were two matching straight-backed chair decorated with yew inlay – a rare find indeed. Despite the room being outfitted with warm tapestries and bright carpets, the space held a cold severity. The imposing oak furniture added to this intimidation.

The young master’s song amplified the oppressive atmosphere. The strings of his violin vibrated with such a rigour that the air itself felt as though it would snap from the pressure. His body trembled from the upsurge of passion the song elicited. His hands convulsed as he paused in the melody, before plunging into the conclusion of the sonata. The descent meandered, and Ciel let out that final note with a stifled release before the resonance faded into vacuous silence.

My gloved applause tore through the stillness that hung in the space, causing the boy to jerk out of his daze. A scowl hardened on his face as he eyed me with all the suspicion that I rightfully deserved. “Goodness, young master, I did not teach you how to play with such feeling.”

“You’re right, because what would you know of the matter?” he spat.

I stalked where he stood rigid by the window. “I am capable of a great deal more than what you would give me credit for. Surely you are aware of my abilities.” I gestured to the violin. “If I may, young master?” I pulled off the gloves as he relinquished to me the petite instrument, capable of such a sonorous voice. As I tucked the chin rest to the right, I noticed something was amiss. “It appears it would be impossible for me to play left-handed.”

“Of course, you idiot.”

I switched the neck of the violin from my right to my left. I reached for the bow with my right. “A left-handed violin requires more than restringing the instrument. It must be constructed as though it were a mirror image of the standard, to properly reflect its unique acoustics. It is no wonder you have never heard me _truly_ play.” I strung out a few clipped notes, the melodies dancing together deviously. “I can mimic the motions of a proper gentleman well enough, but if I were to play in a sinister fashion as my nature would prefer, I just may surprise you for once.” The violin sang under my touch, fingers dancing over her neck. I ended the melody with a trill of ecstasy – if I could wind this song _a sinistra,_ it would have had the desired effect.

Ciel turned away. “I never considered that.”

“That I can play with feeling?”

“No, the being left-handed was such an aberration.”

I placed the violin back in its case that sat on a low bench under the window. “I know I have heard your melody somewhere, young master. Is it Italian, perchance? Paganini?”

“Yes, his sixth sonata.” He folded his arms in his usual irritated fashion. “Do not tell me you came in here to make conversation. I’m in no mood for it.”

I motioned with a humble bow. “Do pardon me, my lord. I only wished to compliment you on your playing. I can only assume that the increased ability in your talent is the result of a fundamental change in your disposition.” My eyes flashed. “Someone who plays with such passion is surely in possession of said-emotion. Or am I being too presumptuous?”

Ciel stalked over to one of his chairs and gripped the back of it with sweaty palms. “I do not wish to play games with you.”

“Then perhaps you are interested in playing this sonata as it is meant to be played? As a duet?” I gestured to the Spanish guitar standing in the corner. “You may find an accompaniment will enhance the potency of this piece.” My grin was devilish.

His heart sped, causing a blush to rise on his cheeks. “I told you! How many ways do I have to say it? I am in no jovial mood!”

“I wholeheartedly feel the same, young master. Perhaps we should focus on more serious matters?” I stood behind him, too close for his comfort.

He turned and stared into my eyes which were lit with obvious flirtation. “You are out of line, Sebastian.”

“And what about you, young master?” I slipped an arm around his waist. “A seemingly reserved, well-mannered individual such as yourself would never be able to play as you do.” My voice took on the smooth, husky resonance that I knew would trap him. I turned his body to face mine. “Pray tell, how did you feel with that violin in your skilful, urgent hands?” Lifting his right hand into my left insinuated that I had the fullest intention to take the lead.

“Quit this farce,” he commanded, attempting to push me away.

I pressed his slender frame against mine. His breath hitched, my face inches from his. He smelled of bergamot and sex. “Very well, I will be level with you. It is apparent that you are battling a few desires and are too proud to just succumb to them.”

“What the hell are you getting at?” He pushed himself out of my grip. “You know, I’m sick of all of your implied suggestions, your inappropriate advances. It’s just…” he began to breathe heavy and held his head as his fingers pulled at the hair that swung over his face. Staggering to the bench by the window, he leaned as if in desperation for some unyielding foundation to grasp.

I took a step forward. “Look at you; you can barely contain your distress.” I leaned in close and lifted the boy’s chin to make sure he could see my eyes blazing in the setting light. “Why not ask for my assistance?”

“What you imply sickens me, devil,” he hissed as he slapped my decorated hand away.

“And what of the actions you perform on yourself, young master?” I whispered into his ear. My breath alone was enough to cause that lobe to blush. “Do you think I am oblivious to how urgently this desire pulls at you? I can hear you in the night, panting, groaning, the pleasure rising, and all the while you cannot stop thinking of me.” I pressed my nose to his soft hair, taking in the soft scent as he remained motionless. “You hate to admit it to yourself – and you have the audacity to think of me as sick.

“I would never lie to you,” I continued as I curled my arms around his chest. I could feel him slipping; His mind was racing as he made a small consideration. “I must question why you would want to lie to yourself.” He tried to pull away, but I would not allow him to “quit this farce” as he had commanded. “Look at you. With the simplest order you could release yourself from my grip; yet you remain silent.”

He spun around and anguish shone in his azure eye. “But do you not understand that I can’t?!” he shouted. “Why must you toy with me, Sebastian?” The young man stopped resisting and I felt the weight of him, as though the release of the self-imposed torment was exhausting. “There is no command I could say that could free me. There is no resolution to this predicament. The worst part is, if I could get away from you, I don’t think I would want to.”

And there it was.

We stood in silence, shadows looming as the sun slipped below the horizon.

“What reason do you have to be afraid?” I cupped his face in my hands. Ciel trembled from the terrifying reality.

“Because you do things like this,” he explained in a shaky voice. “You have been toying with me for days, and I feel my control slipping. And I don’t want to lose it, but the more you toy with me, the more I want to be rid of it.”

“And what if you were to lose control?” I murmured. My face was inches from his. I stared at those delicate lips. “If only for a minute, what would be the outcome of that?”

This was what I wanted, a brief submission, just a taste, just to experience what I had experienced days prior. His anxiety was intoxicating, feeding into me by our connection. I fed it back with a demonic stare. He could not take his eye off of my gaze, no matter how much his mind screamed at him to look away, to take control and simply dismiss me.

A tiny voice whispered, “It would be the end of me.”

I smirked. “But that outcome is already written, master.”

“So you’re saying it’s pointless to resist?”

“Yes.”

I pulled his face to mine and planted my lips on his. He yelped in surprise, unable to resist yet unwilling to surrender. He continued to stare into my face, like prey staring into the mouth of their predator with the full understanding that there was no use resisting any longer.

The taste of his lips were bittersweet, a taste that could be described as the feeling one has when standing on the precipice of corruption. I smelled the fear mingling with a new wave of longing and submission. I whispered to him, my lips pressed against his, “Allow this one moment. Let it consume your awareness – enjoy this release, young master.”

From quivering lips I felt his heated breath as he deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue, pulling me against his small frame. I could not help but succumb to his heat, the earnestness and force of his mouth, the rattling of his body as he pushed against me. There was ferocity to his passion, but his tongue flicked with such a subtle skilfulness. I melted into the sweet impurity of his actions, feeling a hint of his sinister and sickened condition vibrating deep within me. His delicate hands reached for me, fingers tangling in my hair, and I was secured to him. Feeling him tug at me, I locked my arms around his waist. Ciel sighed and the reverberation of his desire intensified. My body sang with it.

I realized Ciel was playing me as if I was a damned fiddle.

Knowing him as I did, I understood that when facing a situation with one solution, he would not just accept the circumstances. He would rush headlong into the inevitable on his own terms and take command of the situation. I allowed him to pull at my tie, his fingers searching for some other flesh to explore, and I found myself wanting his lust, moaning at his heated touch. I ran the risk of losing myself in his yearning, and I was not willing to succumb to it. The boy could not know that I too was sharing this heat of desire. I could not allow myself to relinquish control of the situation.

I pulled away with deliberateness, lips curling, and I took in the sight of his flushed face. I considered what sort of wanton expression I could leave him with if I were to perform some more lecherous act. I retracted an arm to pull out my watch. It snapped open smartly, a clear indication that a trifle concern could divert my attention from him.

"Young master, I do regret that we must cut this short. I have final preparations for dinner to see to." In a swift motion the watch was returned to my coat pocket. I slipped on gloves and set Ciel right, smoothing down his hair, straightening the folds of his jacket, and pulled the handkerchief from my breast pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow.

He stood breathless, and after a moment of confusion he sputtered, "Wh-what?"

"The young master is aware that I have a schedule to keep, and I would hate to not have dinner on the table by seven, so please excuse me. If I were to leave it in Bardroy's hands, I am sure that all I would have to serve you would be a disaster." I adjusted the knot of my tie and tugged at my jacket. Turning on my heel, I proceeded to the door, and behind me I felt the anger bubbling up as the young master clenched his fists.

"Sebastian!" he called as I reached the for the door handle.

"Yes?"

A grimace adorned those beautiful lips, and he only wanted to give me some order, some impossible task solely to give me difficulty. His head was swimming with too much emotion to calculate his next move and I flashed a smug grin at his personal conflict.

"Just... never mind," he muttered, defeated.

"Very well."

I rushed down the hall and stopped at the end to listen. Perhaps he was not aware I heard him smash that beautiful violin. Strings snapped and the belly of the instrument whimpered as he threw it against that monstrous cabinet.


	6. Chapter 6

Ciel Phantomhive lived a life of amusing contrasts. In publics sphere he assumed the role of an adult, but in private he tackled the emotional complications of adolescence. The strength required to prohibit his internal struggles from bleeding into his relationships with colleagues and acquaintances was astonishing. His self-perception that he had all the answers and could be immune to any and all danger was rather humorous, and strangely charming.

My young master poured himself into his work with Funtom. One Wednesday involved a meeting with a factory manager from Dublin to discuss the books and ensure a new product could make the shelves by the first days of spring. The young entrepreneur was quite conscious of how seasons could influence product success.

In order to bring this plan to fruition, company assets needed to be allocated, contracts forged and signed, and the Earl stipulated the requirement of seeing records detailing overall production and cost. Such meetings could be tense, and Ciel preferred to have Tanaka in the room during these sorts of transactions. Not only did he provide an adult influence, but despite appearances he possessed a sharp intellect and years of experience in regards to Funtom’s operation.

My master was quite skilled in the art of keeping appearances, and hosting an event, despite his aversion to it, was no exception. After correspondence with Her Majesty, she urged the Earl to send proceeds of this spring event to expansion plans for Lewisham hospital. Ciel only cared about this philanthropy because it was expected of him, a duty afforded by his position in society. He scoffed at those who engaged in philanthropy for its own sake, themselves believing they were greater men for participating in the noble act of bettering civilisation. "Arrogant," he called it.

"That is a curious judgment, young master." I set before him some biscuits to accompany his tea. Ciel read his Sunday paper, the typical elevenses ritual, after a long week of early mornings and late evenings.

"You know my stance when it comes to matters of social justice." He flipped the page with a rustle of newsprint. "There are those who are born to good circumstance, and those who are not. There are those who would fall to circumstance, and those who would choose to rise and meet it with the intention to change their position in life. Those who are strong will persevere, and those who are weak will perish under their own misfortune."

He plucked a biscuit from the delicate tray and bit into it, as though his bitter words would have no effect on its sweetness. "To believe that we can cause a positive change by using resources to uplift the weak is foolish. We only weaken the society as a whole by allocating our energies to those who are unfit to thrive on their own."

"Young master, I see the logic in your reasoning, but I fail to see the humanity in it."

"And you would care of such things?"

I chuckled. "Not particularly. I simply find your sentiments intriguing, how they are in such contrast to the prevailing opinions of this age." I refilled his tea cup and handed it to him.

He took a sip and glared at me. "Consider me a product of circumstance. I believe my unique reasons for being have more than influenced this position." Ciel folded his paper and slapped it on the coffee table. "Besides, I do not consider my opinion to be so very unique. People will say one thing and feel something entirely different in their hearts." He took another sip. "I do believe my perspective on these matters is more prevalent than people would care to admit."

"And what makes you believe that?"

"Because my opinion has a name; it is called 'Social Darwinism.'" With that, Ciel gulped the last dregs from the bottom of his cup and rose from the chair. "I am bored with this conversation. Sundays are dreadful, with so little to do."

I began to clear the table onto the trolley. In a low, humming voice, I inquired, "What does my young master have in mind?" The tension that always hung underneath the surface rose up and stretched between us. It took so little effort on my part to incite it, for Ciel always had his lust creeping in the back of his mind, despite his insistence that he could never harbour such thoughts. The most subtle suggestion would cause a blush to rise to his face, a sure sign of his dishonesty on the matter.

"I would prefer to entertain myself for the afternoon, Sebastian. I'll be in the library." He walked to the door and turned, waving his hand in that dismissive, condescending manner. "Why don't you occupy yourself with some tedious activity? Clean my rifles, all of them. I should think the season for geese is almost here."

Ciel had to place much effort in keeping a cool head around me. I saw the strain, how he battled between wanting a dalliance in his own pleasure, and not wanting to lose his control. It became something of a game between us. How much did I have to push? How much would he tread into this territory before backing out? Would he dare to elicit some response from me?

He attempted to play the game, albeit clumsily. His ignorance in matters of seduction was laughable, a presumed knowledge based on penny dreadfuls rather than any real experience. Regardless, I placated his efforts, for he knew how to play the charming young lad.

Orders for dessert were the worst. The requests became increasingly decadent: toffee bakewell tart, chestnut truffle cake, gateau chocolat. He would recline in his settee in the tea room, savouring each bite of sweetness. I watched how the dessert fork would glide slowly from pursued lips. A touch of chocolate would be wiped from the corner of his mouth by a deft finger, before he brought it to his greedy tongue. He would lock his gaze on me as he closed his lips around it and pull his hand away slowly, smacking his lips as a clean finger exited.

_Does he know what he implies with that gesture?_ "It appears you enjoyed your dessert a little too much." As I carried an empty plate from the table, I made sure to bend a little too close to the level of his face. He turned his head as if wanting to perchance exchange glances or steal a kiss, but I would rise just in time to extinguish the moment. I delighted in this chase, where Ciel was so reactive to every moment. Whenever he endeavoured to excite me in the same manner, I always left him wanting, pushing him to tread a little farther and act a little more boldly.

From this frustration, he sought every opportunity to call for me and in so doing commanded the most trivial things of me:

"Fetch that book off the shelf for me."

"Adjust this pillow."

"My shoelace, it came undone again."

These childish episodes occupied his time when there was no business to be had, which was quite a bit, since the season offered little reason to be out on the grounds, much less travel for holiday. Her Majesty had no assignment for him either, which frustrated the young master more than he cared to admit. Of course, one knows what they say when it comes to idle hands, and I was not the sort to pass on an opportunity to play.

One Thursday was a flurry of stress as the young master worked to determine how several hundred pounds had mysteriously disappeared from his accounts shortly after that meeting with the Dublin manager. Telephone calls were made, ending in Ciel screaming into the receiver. He slammed the mouthpiece down and proceeded to shred a contract made during the meeting a week prior.

"Sebastian!"

I entered the room, having just seen to the purchase of household supplies. "Yes, young master?"

"McDowell, that two faced liar, he seeks to take my investment for some back alley transaction, and I can't afford to lose that damn factory. The end of the quarter is nearly over and I will not tolerate being in the red by the beginning of spring. I order you to go to Dublin. Visit the factory. Find my money. Do whatever it takes, because I'll be damned if anyone thinks they can take advantage of the Earl of Phantomhive!"

"Yes, my Lord. Consider it done."

This statement was all it took to calm the master. He sat back at his desk, continuing his work, the pen scratching furiously. He trusted that every word I spoke was true, and that I would see to his interests. He would not care to admit that his presumed power was an illusion, or his success was based off the actions of his one trump.

My task was easy enough, but my larger concern was being back in time to serve dinner. I had nothing prepared, and left in Baldroy's hands... before leaving I made preparations, giving explicit instructions as to when to place it in the oven, at the proper temperature, for the exact amount of time. I stressed that any deviation from these instructions would result in severe consequences.

Mey-Rin was given instruction as to when to bring the young master his tea. She was not accustomed to waiting on him in addition to her cleaning duties, and as a result, when I came back from cleaning up the scandal at the factory she was nearly in tears from Ciel's criticism of her abilities.

"He nearly threw the tea pot at me, Sebastian!" she wailed as she retrieved silverware from the cupboard. I pulled the roast out of the oven, appreciative of the fact that Bardroy followed my instruction, for once. He stood in the corner, smugly smoking his cigarette, no doubt praising himself for the work that I expected of him anyway.

"I apologise if you had to contend with any of his unsightly behaviour, Mey-Rin." I sliced the roast with precision. "It has been a hectic day for the master, but I can assure you, things are under control.”

The evening was quiet enough, with Ciel eating his meal in silence, taking his wine with him to his smoking room before retiring early. I ordered Finnian to tend to the fires and see to the lamps while I made accommodations to the young master as he prepared for bed.

He lay on his stomach in the four poster as I entered the room. I set my candelabra on the bedside table. "Does the young master require anything further?"

"Yes, massage my shoulders." He did not hesitate to sit up and lift off the thin cotton night shirt. He tossed it at his feet and plummeted into the feather pillow. I took in the sight of his lean figure, the sensual curve of his spine, his back marred only by the brand that disrupted otherwise pale, flawless skin.

I freed myself of my gloves and from the armoire I acquired a bottle of oil, appropriate for massage. The air swelled with the scent of lavender as I warmed a small amount between my palms. The heat from my hands caused the boy to sigh, his body melting at the sensation. Lavender complimented the boy's scent so exquisitely. To run my fingers over his narrow back, feel the muscles shift, hear him groan from the release of the day's tension... pulling a reaction out of this young man was so very addictive.

"Tell me, Sebastian," Ciel groaned as I pressed a thumb along the side of a shoulder blade, "did you have to kill today?"

Such an abrupt question, I wondered. "No. That would have caused too much disruption among the workers. But you will not be hearing from McDowell anymore."

"Oh?"

"He now is terrified of what lengths you will go to ensure your assets are secure, and the risk of swindling you is not worth what transactions he makes under the table. Anyways, the assistant manager is far more trustworthy, I can ensure you. He has your best interests at heart."

"Very well." Quietude rested between us as I pushed into his firm, lower back. The candle light gleamed off his oiled skin. I imagined skimming my fingers down his chest, grabbing at those hips as he lay under me...

"Is there anything else the young master wishes to know on the matter?"

"No thank you, Sebastian. I will correspond with this new manager tomorrow. The situation is under control." I worked a knot near the base of his spin and he groaned in response, "Yes, right there..." He tensed under my touch, hissing as he exhaled from clenched teeth. I adored the sound, and I wanted to hear more of it.

“Sebastian, I think I could get too comfortable with your massages.”

“Is that so?” The skin was pink and I pressed my palms on this tinted flesh, letting the heat penetrate the tissue.

He sighed, “Your hands… they are so hot…”

I purred, "Do you trust me?" I began to trace circles around the brand, to his lower back, and inched close to his rear.

He shivered in response and turned his head. I caught the glint of his violet eye in the firelight.

"Do I have a reason not to?"

"Of course not." I ran my hands up the length of his back. They glided effortlessly over his oiled skin as I reached the base of his neck. He wanted to slither under this sensation, just so I could touch more of him.

The flame flickered from the candle, dancing in some unfelt draft. I smirked as it tossed light and shadow against the head board. Gingerly, I plucked one of the candles from the candelabra. Perhaps Ciel saw the light shift as I held it over his exposed shoulders.

"I do wish for a straight answer, young master." My right hand gently turned his head to face forward, and firmly I held him by my neck. "Do you trust me?" His breathing grew huskier as his intuition sensed something was amiss in this situation. Fear gripped his body, and I felt his pulse quicken under my fingertips.

A moment passed; I loosened my grip and traced a finger down his jaw and he trembled. He knew he was standing on the edge of some dangerous territory. He could not identify it, and therefore the consequences of stepping over this edge were undetermined. The only certain variable of this situation was that I had a role to play.

He sighed, a dismissal of his anxiety. "I'll play along. Yes, I trust you."

"Completely?"

"Yes!"

"Then be still."

My hand trailed to his side, caressing reassurance. I waited until I felt him relax, for his breathing to soften. Still holding the candle aloft, I gave a quick kiss to his neck and whispered, "It stops when you want it to."

"What stops?"

"Trust me."

Slowly, I tilted the candle and watched the flame lick at the wax, collecting to a single drop. It fell under its own weight and in the silence splatter with a plop on the pale flesh of Ciel's back. He yelped in surprise, jerking from the abrupt heat. The skin bloomed red and I dipped to blow on the sensitive skin where the wax immediately hardened.

I waited for some reprimand and received none. I repeated the action, daring two drops, and this time holding to his side with a little more force. A stifled cry rose from his throat, and my heart raced, the blood drumming in my ears.

“My little lord, do you find this heat to your liking?” I pulled back the strands of his hair and whispered in his ear, "Shall I continue?"

I licked at the helix and he took in a sharp breath. "Yes, all right."

I rose from my position of sitting on the side of the bed to one where I straddled over his lying form, having better control from this position. He tried to watch me, but my free hand gripped his head. "Face forward. Do not struggle, or else it will hurt."

Surprisingly, he acquiesced. I kneaded my hand between his shoulder blades, and proceeded to drop a trail of wax between them. Ciel arched his back, and clutched at the sheets. "Oh..." his voice trembled.

"Young master, paraffin wax is truly a remarkable substance," I remarked, then dribbled onto his shoulder. I watched it slip down the crook of his arm and his voice caught in his throat as the liquid heat meandered to more sensitive flesh. I wiped the wax away and licked the scarlet mark before blowing on it. In response to his whimper I moaned into his ear, and perhaps I bucked into his rear a little too urgently.

I ventured to lower the flame as opposed it holding it so high. As wax pooled on his lower back I traced circles and felt it congeal. He shrieked and rocked his hips.

"Tell me how much you are enjoying this, young master."

Glorious sounds erupted from that pale throat and his skin was splotched with red and white. "It is intense..."

"Well, nothing succeeds like excess."

"And just what are you attempting to succeed in, Sebastian?" He twisted around onto his back to face me. His face was flushed, and his brow was slick with sweat. Realising his incredible excitement to this game of ours, I lowered myself tantalizingly close to his hips. It was a strain to not give indication to how pleasurable I found this.

"I will confess, young master, I do enjoy the sounds you make." He saw me tilt the candle over his chest and in horror watch the wax fall. He arched his back and exclaimed at the heat coming in contact with delicate flesh. His brows were knit and his lips parted as he gasped and thrust against me. I felt his arousal under me and I watched him grit his teeth. "I enjoy your expressions as well," I chuckled.

"Enough."

I blinked. "You wish to stop?"

"Yes,” he panted. I reached over and placed the candle in its holder. As I retracted my hand from the bedside Ciel's arm shot up and grasped the front of my shirt. His lips crashed against mine and delicate fingers knotted themselves in my hair. His breath felt wet on my face, his tongue thrust into my parted lips, and his voice thrummed through my being. I had to tell myself to not snake my arm around his torso, to not lower my weight onto him, to not just rip the covers away and take all of him.

Just as quickly, I was shocked to feel him push me away. Mismatched eyes bore into me as he ordered, "Get out. Now."

"Yes, my lord," I whispered.

I took the candelabra with me, and left without another word. With the door closed, I leaned against it and heard him through the thick wood, his moaning, panting... "Damn you, Sebastian... oh my… Sebastian, ah… oh… Oh!" he cursed through gritted teeth before bellowing, his orgasm no doubt racking his body. My lips curled and my eyes flashed in the dark.

* * *

Post arrived early on Mondays, and among a bank statement and business reports was a delicate pink envelope with "Phantomhive" inked in flowery cursive.

"It appears Lady Elizabeth has written you, young master." He snatched the letter from me and sighed. This was no doubt the last thing he wanted to deal with after the events of the previous night. I felt only slightly guilty for being the one to make the young master's sleep most uncomfortable.

He fiddled with the wax seal, reluctant to crack it. There were moments when the boy would act with the determination of a grown adult and moments, such as this, when he displayed the reluctance of a child.

"Would you prefer me to open it for you?"         

"No, I will do it myself!" With that he broke the seal, nearly ripping the letter in the process. Trepidation left his demeanour as he scanned the letter and his expression was replaced with one of frustration. He tossed the letter on the desk at me, rubbed one of his temples and commanded, "Go on, read it.”

> _20 February, 1891_
> 
> _My dearest Ciel,_
> 
> _Every day that has passed since our time apart has been a needle in my heart. After nearly a week of your absence, I feel as though my heart is leaden, and I ache to be released of the heaviness that is brought by the distance between us. The grey weather seems to reflect my disposition, but I am hopeful the skies will clear so I may see the blue that reminds me of my darling._
> 
> _Mother has sought to keep me busy with my instruction for many of my waking hours. She is as stern as ever, knowing that our engagement will come to a close only after a few short years and insists the honour of the family rests on me. I do not exactly understand what she means by this, but I know not to question my mother. Edward has immersed himself in his law studies at the university in London and we hardly see him anymore. I do miss him terribly, but I trust that he is well, despite his sporadic correspondence._
> 
> _I should very much like to see you the first weekend of March, and Mother has permitted this. I must divulge a secret to you: she does not know of the brooch you gave me and I delight in keeping this secret. Every time I gaze upon it hidden in under the small drawer of my vanity I imagine it as the small flower plucked from the hidden garden of your heart. Know that I will protect your heart forever and always, for I can conceive of nothing more precious. There is no greater privilege than to be given the duty of protecting our love._
> 
> _Until we meet again, please continue to treasure the valentine I made for you and know that it is imbued with love. Part of my heart resides with you, and I will not feel whole until we are together again._
> 
> _With all of my love,_
> 
> _Lizzie_

I looked up from reading the letter to see Ciel laying his head on the desk. "Why does she write to me in this manner?"

"Because she loves you, young master."

“Wonderful observation, Sebastian!"

I smirked and lay the letter on the desk next to his head. "She is simply a girl, my lord. They feel their affections most strongly when they express them in subtle ways."

"This letter is hardly subtle." Lifting himself from his desk he plucked up the envelope and peered inside. "There's a pressed flower here. What is this?" He held it up to me.

I took the dainty white and yellow flower and held it to the light. "This is narcissus. I think in the language of flowers it means she wishes for you to return her affections."

"If I were to do so, I would probably die, Sebastian." He dropped his head again, this time with a loud thunk. "I suppose she expects a quick reply, seeing as it's late in the month." After opening a drawer, he procured a fresh sheet of paper, reached for his pen, and dipped the quill. Ciel hovered over the paper in hesitation, his mind as blank as the page before him.

"Sebastian, I do not know what to write."

I folded my arms. "Are you asking for my advice?"

"Do you have some advice to give?"

With a sly grin and leaning over the desk, I murmured, "Pretend it is to me you are writing."

As his lips turned down in a grimace, he swung to hit me. I could have caught his hand, brought those fingers to my lips and given him a real reason to blush. I allowed him to strike me across the face, pausing at the sting. His ring had grazed me, and I lightly touched my cheek. A touch of red seeped into otherwise flawless white gloves.

"I apologise if I have offended the master," I said matter of fact as I straightened and pulled at my waistcoat.

"You are suggesting I outright lie to her, Sebastian!"

I brought my hand to my forehead in irritation. "Oh please, my little lord, as if this were anything out of the ordinary."

"Enough!" he yelled as he shot out of his seat. "Enough of your insolence!"

"Perhaps the little lord would like his tea?"

"No! Get out! Do not bother me until I call for you again!"

I would have been lying if I said I was not aggravated by the young master's aggression. Why could he just not set aside this conflict in his mind? The solution was to tell the young woman exactly what she wanted to hear and give her no reason to ever question it. The young master was skilled in the art of deceit, so why was wearing this mask in front of her such an issue?

Ciel sat in his office for four hours working up this letter to his sweet betrothed. When he called for me again, his desk was littered with crumbled drafts. He held up a letter, stark white and crisply addressed to Miss Midford. "Ensure this is sent today. And do not open it."

"Yes, my lord." I tucked the letter into my breast pocket.

"Don't read it."

"Of course." He was keenly aware that I did not need to open a letter to read it.

He leaned into his chair, it creaking from the strain of having to recline so far back. "I would very much like to have luncheon now. Damn it, so much work left to do... and I have to make a call to the assistant manager... well I suppose the head manager… what is his name, Sebastian?"

"Tanner, Benjamin Tanner."

He rose from his chair and stretched. "Perform a back ground check on his man after luncheon."

"Most certainly, but if I may, young master, since it is unseasonably mild outside, would you care to take your meal in the gardens this noon?" I gestured to the window.

"Oh." He looked out the glass as if just noticing the clear sky, the sun shining over vegetation that was just beginning to wake up from the winter. Ciel unlatched the window and swung it open. A crisp breeze invited itself into the study. "Yes, I think I would very much like that." He turned and paced to the door. "Have the servants open all the windows this afternoon."

The air was pleasant enough for the young master to sport a wool jacket and thin stockings, but I brought a scarf outside in the event the wind should pick up. He never did lose his sensitivity to the chill of winter. A trace of the sun’s heat could be felt as we strolled to the open gazebo. Rising majestically among the English garden, it's Ionic pillars mimicked the sturdy yet graceful ash trees that would make for the most stunning backdrop after the winter season's passing. Among the austere, Neo-Classical stonework of the gazebo I sat lunch at a wrought iron table from my trolley. Juniper bushes surrounding the structure completed the inviting scene.

A Brunswick stew of hearty vegetables and soda bread was a wonderful compliment to the weather, and I felt the young master was in much need of some comfort for all that plagued his mind.

He set his spoon on the plate under his soup bowl and brought the napkin to his lips. "Sebastian, I have some questions for you."

"By all means, young master." I stood to the side.

He turned in his chair to face me. "What was the meaning of last night’s events?"

"Oh. Yes. I was under the impression that you enjoyed it." He stared at his feet, feeling a twinge of embarrassment, no doubt. "Unless I am dreadfully mistaken."

"No... You are... correct in your assumption." I stepped forward, wanting to close the distance for this intimate conversation. "But that does not answer my question. Why did you initiate that in the first place?"

"You mean dripping wax down your back."

"What else would I be referring to?"

I had to choose my words carefully. "I considered that you might find it enjoyable, and I wanted to see how you would react to it."

He eyed me with scepticism. "That's rather curious."

"In what manner?"

"It just is! It was strange, to have you inflicting this pain, and while I wasn't scared... well, it did not hurt too much, but it felt..." he turned from me and folded his arms. "Damn it, Sebastian!"

I rubbed his shoulders reassuringly. "I knew you would enjoy it." He slapped me away.

"See? That, right there! You can just anticipate these things! How is it?"

"Are you asking me how I know my master well enough to anticipate his needs and desires?"

"You bloody well know it goes beyond that!" He sat upright in his seat and stared at me. "These things you do to me. You cause me so much irritation, you know that?"

"Well, I think I cause you to feel more than that."

"And it's terrifying!" He ran a hand roughly through his hair, the eye patch falling from his face. He did not bother to retrieve it from the ground.

I bent to pick it up, but decided not to tie it back over his eye. "You have no reason to fear. From the first moment you made our contract, and every moment thereafter, you have had no reason to fear anything, because you can always trust nothing will ever harm you. You have known this, and you even admitted to it last night."

He contemplated the unshakeable truth of those words. He was still not satisfied. "Well honestly, am I so simple that you can predict what is necessary to placate these... desires?"

"Simple? Predict?"

"Yes, am I so very predictable?"

I thought it such a silly question to ask. "Young master, you are predictable in one regard; I can predict that you will continue to always exceed my expectations."

He gazed at me with those two toned eyes in shock, and slowly the meaning of my words softened his features, showing vulnerability in how he knit his eyebrows. His lip quivered. On bent knee, I lowered my gaze to his. “I was quite surprised with just how passionately you reacted last night, young master.”

So Ciel would continue to surprise me. Slowly, he closed the distance between us and I welcomed the warmth of those quivering lips. He brought his hands to my face, and I deepened the kiss in response.

I could hear him in the back of my head, like a hollow whisper, _“More, I want more of this.”_

I closed my eyes and wrapped myself in this sensation of his heat, savouring the corruption that funnelled into some deep place I tried so hard to ignore. Fingers grazed through my hair, over the back of my neck, pulling me into him further and a moan slipped from my lips. His urgency was intoxicating, fuelled by a lust that would only continue to grow with every kiss, every caress, every ecstatic sensation I could conjure in this boy.

His lips refused to leave mine. “Sebastian… I don't know what to make of any of this—”

“There is nothing to analyse here,” I whispered back.

“I want—”

"I know." I quieted his words with another kiss, my tongue shoved into an eager mouth. He was submitting to this, I could feel it in his hands that gripped my shoulders. My hands travelled to his necktie where I proceeded to loosen it. My lips suckled at the sensitive spot below his chin and he pulled me into him.

Ciel’s voice trembled, "...how far do we take this, Sebastian?"

I whispered, "As far as my master wishes."

I wrapped my arms around his hips and he yelped as they pulled him to the edge of his chair. I kneaded into his thighs and he gasped, "I do not know where that limit is."

"It is best not—" I nipped at his flesh, "to dwell on such matters."

His legs parted, granting me more closeness. "This chair simply will not do," When I lifted him to the table he clung to me, panting in my ear. He shivered as my touch trailed under his thighs.

The boy reached for my hands. "Take them off," he commanded. When he felt the heat of bare skin caress the pale flesh that peaked from under those shorts he gasped and pulled the neck tie off completely. This granted me access to his collarbone which I lapped at fervently. His eyes fluttered, cheeks tinged, lips parted.

In the distance I heard a cheerful humming and I froze. Ciel looked at me perplexed.

Finnian was far enough away to where the boy could not hear him, but we were visible enough in the expansive garden, and we were sitting in one of its main focal points. I turned to see him heading in our direction with a pair of gardening sheers. Turning back I could see the juniper bushes behind my master were in serious need of trimming.

In the blink of an eye the young master's tie and eye patch were set back in place, he was seated in the chair, as opposed to indecently on the table, and I stood idle... just in time for Finnian to glance up and wave at us. Ciel was still panting, but I paid no mind as I cleared the last of the condiments from the table onto my trolley.

"Good afternoon, young master!" Finnian piped enthusiastically. "Goodness, are you all right?" he inquired upon seeing the boy’s flushed face.

I interjected, "It seems the air is still too cold for the young master to be out for any length of time." I handed the boy his scarf. "Here, my lord, this should help to ease the chill."

He shot daggers at me as he coughed and yanked the scarf from my hands. His eyes widened as we both realized I was not wearing my gloves. Ciel managed to feign a coughing spell to distract Finnian while I quickly slipped them on behind my back. "I'll be in my study," he wheezed as he quickly vacated the area.

"Have you come to trim the juniper?" I inquired.

"Yes sir!"

"Very well." I could not help but add, "Do not hack them to stumps, for goodness' sake."


	7. Chapter 7

Part 2- Dissolution

_Immerse yourself, let it wash over you. Defences are softened as the thirst deep within surges to the surface and you are swollen with lasciviousness._

* * *

 

Over the course of a week Ciel had grown fond of kissing, and sought many opportunities to partake in this. He was the sort to demand his desires be met in a timely manner, and this was of course not limited to personal matters. In terms of business affairs, he was expedient in scheduling meetings, one of which was a trip to Dublin to meet this new factory manager.

During our carriage ride to board the train at King’s Cross, he pondered, "What makes one a good kisser?"

"How do you mean, young master?"

"Surely you do not think I'm asking a trick question, Sebastian. How does one know if he is good at kissing?"

I crossed my arms in amusement. "The only way to know is if the one you are kissing wants to be kissed by you again."

He reflected on this answer for a moment, peering out the window onto a hazy moor that would eventually lead to the grimy streets of London. All was quiet until he snapped the curtain closed and rose unsteadily from his seat as the carriage bumped along. Straddling my lap, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I could not stifle a moan as his lips crashed to mine, his mouth hungry and his body covetous. Deeping this kiss, I inhaled his scent, smelling wool, tobacco, sublime lust and the sweetness of his corruptible nature. Hips ground into mine and I nibbled at his chin while my head swam with all manner of devious thoughts.

He breathed, "So, would you say I kiss well?"

I paused, reluctant to give a straight "yes." It was imperative that I remained unreadable, that he knew not what was stirring within me. Over the past few days I had entertained the notion of relinquishing my control but dismissed that possibility. While pleasure for its own sake was sweet, manipulation required more skill and therefor yielded greater rewards.

"I would say that the master is skilled in many ways," The boy shivered in response. I thought it best not to tell him that his soft lips caused this swelling that could eclipse me. When I felt his tongue flick against mine it was as though he pulled at a thread within me, its vibrations reverberating to the core of my being.

There were advantages to a corporeal form based in solid reality. Humans are not aware of just how clouded they are, as though living in a cave and witnessing the shadows on the wall. Despite their limited perceptions, existing in the material gives experiences immediacy, and the effects of these sensations are undeniable. As a demon accustomed to spaces that only mirror the physical realm, corporeal existence was intoxicating.

I welcomed our small, intimate exchanges, but I allowed for the master to initiate them. It was common for Ciel to summon me to his smoking room, or to his bedroom before retiring for the evening. Surprisingly, I found that he was conducting his business with far less stress as a result of our encounters.

Even the servants commented on how the boy’s mood had changed. They believed it was due to the shift in the season, or that Elizabeth was coming to visit. I reminded my young master of this a couple days prior to her arrival. Preparations for her were arranged, and Ciel was diligent with tying up his review over sales reports before she arrived. Looking up from his work, he proclaimed, "Very well, Sebastian, but I'll have you know I did not need you to remind me." He resumed his fervent scratching of pen on paper.

I bowed. "May I ask, young master, are you looking forward to her arrival?"

His lips formed a hard line. "As if it were any of your business, but to answer your question, I see Lizzie as being another appointment to attend."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I am obligated to appeal to her however she wishes. It's for the prestige of my good name, as well as her honour, that we work to make this arranged marriage a success. But such things are no more than a business transaction; an exchange of goods and services, where the politics of negotiation are critical to this exchange." He neatly tapped a stack of papers into order and placed them in a folder for filing.

While it was most improper of my station, I was intrigued by the boy’s comment and so to engage the conversation further, I sat in the chair opposite his desk. He stared at me, surprised with how I chose to sit without permission. "Am I to conclude that you see her no more than just another asset to your plans?" I rested my chin on my hand, eager for some naïve response from the young man who believed he could have all the answers.

"If you are suggesting that I don't care for her at all, you are mistaken." He rested his elbows on the desk and folded his hands under his chin, mimicking me and sizing me up. "She is my cousin, after all."

"So you care for her as a family member?"

"In one regard."

"And what of in the sense that she is your fiancée?"

"Sebastian, you are pushing the matter. Drop it and bring me my tea."

As I turned to leave, he added, "Despite what sort of... exchanges... we may have had over the past few days, might I remind you. You are my butler. Any sort of events that occur between us, well, it's because I allow them to occur. Do not forget it."

I was sure that he did not see me smirk as I left the room. Such a foolish boy; he failed to remember that it was I that encouraged him to indulge in his desires. His initial decision was to ignore them completely. We both saw how terrible that was for his nerves. _If he wants to believe that he is the one in control of these circumstances, then so be it._ Under his air of authority and immutable exterior, he found the experiences to be frightening. During those moments of heated exchange he felt out of control, his armour shaken to reveal all vulnerability. In some paradoxical way, this position of vulnerability thrilled him.

There were times when I felt a great reluctance in his touch. He was urgent in his kisses, but was fearful to advance beyond that innocent gesture. He had grown quite conscious of how far he could fall into this pleasure. When he would pull me towards him, I could feel his arousal and on many occasions he was not inclined to hide it. One such evening, I hesitantly lowered him onto the bed, my bare hand drifting lower to his trembling hips. I crouched over his slender form, my hungry kisses on his neck being encouraged by his heavy panting. All that laid between my hand and his rosy flesh was the thin cotton of a nightshirt. Young master knew what I was reaching for, and what my intentions were. He saw the flash of my eyes, and he cried, "Don't! Sebastian, I order you to stop!"

Needless to say, that was the end of our rendezvous for that evening.

I could not push him further than what he was comfortable because he was inclined to trust me. This was the reason why he could feel the full intensity of his fear, look into my eyes as his body quivered and acknowledge the risk he was taking. It only fed into the heat, and the result was a confusion embedded deep in the core of his being. I tasted it on his lips, smelled it in his skin. His body reeked of corruption and turmoil, a walking delicacy. He was my masterpiece and with any work of beauty, the most crucial component is patience.

What terrified the boy more? Was it vulnerability itself, or the thrill of relinquishing one’s armour? I do not believe even Ciel could answer this question.

Elizabeth arrived at the manor on a clear Saturday as Ciel was finishing elevenses. I expected him to dread the day, but surprisingly, as she bounded out of the carriage, the earl greeted her with open arms and his most charming smile. Most strange, I considered, since a few weeks ago he appeared to resent her presence.

Ciel offered a walk through the garden's labyrinth, seeing as how Finnian had spent the past three days trimming its hedges and cleaning its winding pathways. Elizabeth wore a new outfit of the season, a pale blue ensemble that was surprisingly less girlish and with fewer frills, the cut designed to accentuate a feminine physique, as opposed to a girl's attire which was meant to hide the body entirely. A smooth bodice accentuated an already tiny waist, which was made more apparent by the fullness of her bustle skirt. Her jacket was smartly tailored, its detailed embroidery winding down the sleeves to her hands decorated in lace gloves. Instead of wearing a girl’s bonnet, she chose an elaborate spring hat with lilies and feathers to perch on top of her blonde curls.

Despite such a sophisticated outfit, she still chose to wear her girlish flat shoes. She had grown to quite a height, much like her mother. She was so self-conscious of this fact, and this apprehension was exacerbated by the fact that Ciel’s rather short stature. He would unlikely grow much more past his height of five and a half feet. I concluded that it was due to his ill-humoured nature, for he had spent his formative years fighting with his asthma and all its complications. Even though the boy would wear a heel that gained him an extra inch, Elizabeth still had several inches above him. While standing side by side, her flamboyant hat did not help the situation.

As a result, Elizabeth slouched (as much as a lady in a corset is able) as they sauntered through the labyrinth garden. Noticing her self-consciousness, "Your new outfit suits you, Lizzie. You wear it quite elegantly." Ciel’s compliment certainly elevated her mood. She shifted her parasol, turned, and glanced coyly over her shoulder. Gloved fingers pressed to her cheek, as though to hide a blush.

From that moment on, Elizabeth spared no expense when displaying her flirtatious behaviour. The boy not only picked up on her lady-like advances, but was actually responding to them. I watched with intrigue when he held his arm for her to hold as they strolled along. She was happy to share her parasol with him. The scene was positively idyllic, not unlike the painting that hung above the fireplace in the Rococo parlour. Underneath all his chivalrous displays and charismatic words, his mind stirred with impatience. I heard him screaming in his mind, _"Let's get on with it!"_ Whatever he meant by "it," I was unsure. He was up to something, and the manner in which he occasionally glanced into the distance led me to conclude his mind was elsewhere.

The two reached the centre of the labyrinth, where I had a quaint luncheon prepared: cucumber sandwiches, smoked trout, a salad tossed with sweet relish, and fresh buns glazed in honey. To complete the meal, I prepared a treacle tart and coffee. Elizabeth clapped her hands at the delicate display of food set on glass trays at the wrought iron patio set. I decided to complete the display with an arrangement of jonquil and a few sprigs of daphne odora. Surely she would notice this subtle hint.

Ciel held the chair out for his fiancé and she arranged the folds of her skirt after being seated. He gave me a sideways glance, smirked as if to say, _"Well played,"_ and nodded to the table. As the lady was preoccupied herself with the table arrangement, I reciprocated the silent exchange with a flash of vermillion eyes. Elizabeth looked up to see the blush on the boy’s cheeks and perceived it as being directed towards her. _This is all aligning so flawlessly,_ I thought.

Between small bites and sips of tea they carried on a most polite conversation. That is to say, I found the conversation to be rather dull. "Tell me more about your brother, Lizzie. Is he well?" Young master perched his fork on the side of his plate and rested his chin on his hands, as though this were the most interesting thing in the world for him.

The young woman clung to her napkin. "Last I saw him he was in good health. He has been studying law, as you know, but even when university is not occupying all his time, he refuses to come home on holiday."

"Do you suspect anything suspicious?"

"I have no reason to, but mother seems disinclined to talk of such things with me. She will not say anything, but I can tell something has displeased her."

The young gentleman pondered this for a moment, suspecting something was amiss. Edward was extremely close to his younger sister, not only in the protective sense, but in a trusting one as well. He was eager to share all matters with her, and vice versa. Their lack of correspondence, and Elizabeth not knowing her brother's current condition, was a circumstance the boy found more than interesting.

This was not a topic of conversation that the lady was entirely comfortable with, and thus she switched to something she felt was more pleasant. "How are the plans for the charity ball coming along?"

Young master tried his very best to sound chipper and enthusiastic over the whole event. "I find preparing for the event may be more enjoyable than actually attending it, I fear." Elizabeth beamed from such a comment.

"Might I ask, Ciel, would you be willing to play a piece with me on that evening? I have been practicing, you know, and I have so fallen for this one composition. It reminds me so much of the spring."

Ciel crossed his arms as he considered it.

"It would mean so much to me if we played this duet, in front of everyone," she added.

Again, young master gave another one of his winning smiles. "How could I ever say no to you, Lizzie?" It took all of her will to not dash over the table to take her fiancé into an embrace.

At this point I was suspicious of his relaxed demeanour. _The little snake, putting on airs. Just what does he have in his head that has made his interactions with her so effortless? What has resolved in his mind to make this so very possible?_ All the while his mind screamed, _"I'm bored! How can she be so dull?"_

Ciel attempted to steer the conversation to literature, but found poor Elizabeth had not read much of anything he had preference for. He attempted to talk politics but learned rather quickly she could not keep up with the conversation. She wished to talk in great detail about her daily goings on with her own studies (which for a lady contain little substance at all), and the time spent with friends over afternoon tea. The boy had to work especially hard to not show just how little he cared.

It was when I served the coffee that Ciel decided to take a different approach. "Lizzie, I understand that our dreams can tell us a lot about ourselves. Have you had an interesting dream lately?"

"My, Ciel, what an odd thing to ask." She blushed. "I... well, goodness me, I'm far too embarrassed to share it."

"Oh, then I suppose it's terribly... improper." As he looked directly into Elizabeth's eyes, her breath hitched. I was beginning to see just what he was playing. He was forcing the conversation to lead to some inevitable conclusion, one where Lady Elizabeth would be compelled to respond in some desired way. In a sense, I felt a sort of endearment, because surely it was from me he learned this tactic.

I pretended that I found the blooming dogwood tree nearby to be of far more interest.

He leaned back in his very smug manner. "Well, might I share one of my own with you?"

"I suppose..."

He took a sip of his coffee. "I had this dream where I was on my bed as it was floating out at sea, but it was storming. The waves were terrifying, but at the same time I felt thrilled by the activity of the ocean. It was as if I was waiting for the bed to capsize." My attention was snapped back to the conversation and I did not hide that I was staring at the boy.

"Oh my goodness!" The young lady looked almost stricken with horror. "If I were to have such a dream, I would wake up screaming and not sleep for the rest of the night!"

"Well, I did wake up in the middle of the night from that dream. It wasn't frightening like you would imagine, Lizzie. I slept well enough afterwards." As Elizabeth looked at her dessert plate and took another bite of tart with uncertainty, he puckered his lips in my direction. I felt my heart leap. The sly little imp was playing us both.

"What do you suppose it means, Ciel?"

He leaned forward and whispered, as if divulging a secret, "I think... it means I like to take risks. Could you say the same of yourself?" His eyes were heavy-lidded, Elizabeth swooned in her seat. She hardly knew how to respond to such a question.

"I'm finished with my coffee," he proclaimed as he set his cup on the saucer with barely a sound. "Lizzie, would you care to walk with me down to the lake? Perhaps the ducks have come back for the season."

"Oh... all right." As the two rose from their seats I knew this was my cue to clear the table and head back to the manor. I had been suspicious of his perspective on his relationship to Elizabeth, and concerned that under his own foolishness he would sabotage his engagement entirely. Such a predicament would not bode well for his status or reputation, and I just could not allow that. In retrospect, I recognized his logical stance on the matter had put his mind at ease. To explain their betrothal in business terms meant he had the potential to control his situation. This was why the young master felt more comfortable fulfilling Elizabeth’s expectations.

I walked to the kitchen with a trolley laden with dirty tableware and a spent meal. Upon entering, I hung my jacket, rolled up my sleeves and began to empty plates and cutlery into the large wash basin. Still, what development could potentially be the reason for the boy’s change in disposition?

The new level of intimacy between me and the young master was the development and resulted in him growing cockier by the day. It was a few weeks prior that he seemed highly reserved and sullen. Since the evening where he destroyed that violin, he carried a certain glint in his eye that indicated a hidden amusement. He found our liaisons to be a sort of game.

I was elbow deep in dish water when I heard a door upstairs close, which was followed with quick steps. Something about it was amiss, so I proceeded to dry myself and adorn my gloves and jacket. Even after I had managed to roll down my sleeves I could feel the crumpled fabric underneath the jacket. No one would notice it, but I knew the creases were there; it was most unprofessional. This was usually my time to change my shirt and see to my own laundry, but I supposed it could wait. I stalked up the stairs to where I heard someone enter through the back door that led to the patio.

I happened across Elizabeth who had taken the stairs up through a back corridor. I hung under the shadow of the stairs to watch her above me and heard sobbing. As she turned a corner, I took to the stairs, making sure I would not be seen nor heard. She retreated to her personal guest room with the intention of going unnoticed. Once she felt quite alone in a hidden corridor, she allowed herself to sob more openly. I peered around the corner to see her dabbing her red face with a soaked handkerchief. She had the look of a woman who wanted to crumple into herself, but could not for the restrictions of a corset. Ciel would have been the one responsible for the lady’s distress. How he had sent her into such a state, I could only speculate.

I slipped into a lounge off the main corridor by the back stairway. The speaking tubes were in a discreet corner of the room and knowing Mey-Rin would be in the laundry room, I spoke calmly, "Mey-Rin, my dear, are you available?"

Her quivering voice echoed up the tube, "Yes, sir, is there something... you need help with?"

It was then I heard a distant crash, coming from a much lower part of the house. Apparently, the maid heard it as well, for being at ground level. She squeaked in response. "What was that? Sebastian, what is going on?"

I sighed. "Oh my, I suppose something _has_ happened between the young master and the Lady Elizabeth. She is in her quarters right now. Would you see to her? I must take care of—” Another crash was heard. "…The young lord."

"Say no more, sir!"

The crashing noise sounded of glass being thrown against a very resistant surface. As I hurried down the stairs to the main floor and turned toward the kitchen, the noise grew more apparent. Peering in, I noticed he was not in there directly but he was terribly close by. I followed the racket to the end of the narrow hall leading down to the wine cellar where the sound of glass shattering echoed its way up the stone walls.

A small amount of light from the doorway illuminated but a fraction of the cellar. As one moved towards the back this darkness became so dense it was difficult to determine where one's person was in proximity to anything at all. It was into the back of the cellar that Ciel was tossing wine bottles with all the fury his body could muster. Wine seeped towards him in the cracks of the uneven cobbled floor.

Most often I made the greatest effort to practice patience with the boy, but in this ludicrous situation it was only appropriate that I be candid with him.

A bottle of Pinot Noir came whizzing toward me. I quickly cast it aside, and it collided against a nearby shelf. "Damn it, Sebastian! Damn it all to hell!"

"What foul language, young master." I darted across the room faster than his senses could register and grabbed him by the jaw. "Do you realise..." I cocked my head and lowered my voice, "the mess you have made?" I was hardly referring to the cellar. I pulled another bottle of wine out of his hand forcefully before he could hit me with it. After I had a firm grip on his body, I set the bottle, Chianti, back into the wine rack.

He attempted to squirm away from me, which resulted in me holding him tighter. I lowered my voice, hoping it would calm him, but honestly I was beyond attempting to be patient. "Elizabeth is terribly upset and I am blaming you for it. You do realize the potential repercussions of this, correct? What did you do? What is the meaning of all this?”

"Let go and I'll tell you!"

"Tell me and I will let go." With both of my arms wrapped around him now, it was too easy to lift him off the ground. His hair smelled of honeysuckle and traces of Elizabeth’s perfume.

He spat, "I kissed her, all right?"

I blinked. What did he hope to accomplish from such an act? "...Is that all?"

"Not really." He shifted a little in my arms and whispered in my ear, as though he was afraid to hear himself say it. "Do you know about a week ago, what you said about my letter to Lizzie, how I should imagine myself writing to you instead of to her?"

"I do recall..." I held him in a less restricting manner, seeing as he was a little calmer. I did not feel inclined to let go of him entirely, knowing my closeness was only making the boy more agreeable.

"Well, I did not take that advice in that way."

Eager to see where he was headed with all of this explanation, I pulled off his eye patch, because I wanted to see him fully in the dim cellar. "How do you mean, young master?"

His lips were inches from mine. "When I kissed her... I tried to kiss her as if I were kissing you."

The silence pressed in on us.

He never ceased to exceed my expectations.

"My, that is truly sinister."

"I know, and oh how wrong I was for doing it." Those mismatched eyes held my gaze, as though it were the only thing he had to cling to. "I thought that maybe it was what she wanted. I considered I could do that if I just… pretended. She ran from me, Sebastian. I suppose it was too... intense?”

I could give a damn about the mess in the cellar. My master had worked himself up to such a fit and I was more concerned with seeing to that. Well, I would be lying if my focus was entirely on his state of mind.

He continued, “She is simply too good of a person and I would only disrupt that. I realized the conditions of our relationship really are constant; she'll never know me as I am, nor would she want to. Also, as much as I attempted to feel something with her in that moment, I couldn't. She leaves me hollow."

I let that word hang in the small spaces between us.

"Do you feel hollow when I am near?" I inquired gently. I was desperate to know, anything to gain leverage.

"...No. Sebastian, you make me feel so many things it frightens me."

He took the liberty to run his fingers through my hair, hands shaking, lips quivering. I could not help but tip my head and expose my neck. "Then tell me, young master. Just what are you feeling?"

“Other than afraid?” His lips gently grazed my exposed flesh. "I feel," another kiss, "excited," and another, "and angry," he nipped at my chin, "and alive."

I forced my lips onto his, my greedy tongue in his mouth. He clung to me, and I lifted him to wrap his legs around my waist as I backed him into a cabinet. My fingers dug into his rear, pushing him against me, and he muttered, "oh my—"

"Do you feel alive now, young master?"

"Yes—“

"Do you want more of this?"

"Yes..."

"Then, would you allow me to give you more of this pleasure?"

His breathing laboured and his fingers tangled in my hair as he pushed his arousal against me. I whispered, "You want this. You trust me. It is rather simple. Just say it and it is yours."

"Oh... Sebastian," he whimpered. I bit at his lower lip and he moaned. "Uhn... okay, yes, I want it."


	8. Chapter 8

After uttering those simple words, the gravity of what Ciel agreed to sank upon us. Desperation shone in those mismatched eyes. As he grabbed at the lapels of my tailcoat, I realised I had stopped breathing, for the boy’s outright acceptance and complete disregard of control was unexpected on my part. Kissing would never be enough. He responded too fervently to my touch, this unquenchable ardour churning as the waves of a tempest.

A smirk coiled across my lips, but all he saw in the dark was the dim glow of my eyes. His ability to gaze at such a terrifying sight without cowering away made me want him all the more.

He would most surely regret this rendezvous.

The boy whispered in my ear, “Sebastian… no one must know of this."

My lips grazed past his neck, just below his ear. "Of course, my little lord.” Despite the tender familiarity of being held, he trembled from uncertainty. Heat radiated from the back of his neck. He had little idea as to what he begged for, and I revelled in triumph.

Taking to the stairs, I listened for any movement in the hall before proceeding. Bardroy had been sent to the market. Finnian was more than likely to stay in the gardens. Tanaka was having tea on the other side of the manor, where the bedrooms were located. There was also consideration that we could raise Lady Elizabeth’s suspicions, despite her need for Mey-Rin’s consolations. It was not in our best interest to venture where there was so much risk.

With my seemingly weightless master gathered in my arms, I jolted down the hallway, and peered around the corner. Silence abounded in this wing of the manor. We slipped past the dining hall, toward the darkened corridor that led to the smoking room, on the north side. No one would have want or reason to be in that part of the manor.

When we arrived at the door leading to this room, Ciel realised the significance of what he had demanded. His breath sounded apprehensive as his heart pounded excited crimson. I set him on his feet and opened the door for him. He gaped at me, uncertain of whether or not to enter.

Gesturing to the room’s interior, I wore my typical, welcoming smile. He had little reason to feel nervous about the situation, for my only intention was to fulfil my master’s desire and curiosity. As he peered into the dark room, he must have been reminiscing over our previous rendezvous.

We never did speak of that moment to any real length.

After he entered, I followed, and closed the door behind me with a click. He whipped around, that innocuous noise reaffirming all his fears. With me standing before his only means of escape, I stared at him as a predator would stare down his prey. He would have no control in this situation and that was precisely how I wanted it.

Despite the evident nervousness knit between his brows and the way he blinked his eyes more than usual, he stood straighter in an attempt to hide his trepidation. Out of his own pride, he would not even consider recanting at this point. Bringing a wrist to my teeth, I pulled at the cloth of my gloves, my eyes never leaving his. The restriction left me, and my hand tingled with the anticipation for what I was about to touch. The glove fell to the floor and the other followed in urgency.

"Young master, you appear hesitant." He recoiled as I stepped forward, but caught himself mid-step, and his pride compelled him to stand firm. He scowled, knowing I saw his vulnerability, and wished he had some scathing remark. All the boy had to do was command me, but I did not believe he had the capacity to give such a lecherous order, for all his boyish ignorance. As I towered over him, I smirked to feel the shame dripping from him of wanting something and not knowing precisely what that thing was.

"Please relax, my little lord," I whispered. Taking his right hand in my left, I kissed the palm as a means to place him at ease. Another nervous breath slipped past his lips.

"What do you plan to do to me, Sebastian?" his voice quivered.

"Would you prefer if I took the thrill of not knowing from you?" I unbuttoned his coat in the casual, dutiful manner in which he was accustomed, expecting this familiar ritual would set his mind at ease. "I do not wish to spoil it. Besides, if I were to give you details, I fear I run the risk of being dismissed."

"How do you mean?"

His coat was slung over the back of a leather chair and I took the same methodical approach to his neck tie. "My methods are most deplorable." Crouching down, I unbuckled his shoes and out of them he stepped. I glanced up to see him eyeing me with disgust. "Why do you carry such an expression?"

"What have you lured me into?" His voice seethed with such an irresistible air of disgust.

I rose to take off his waist coat, pressing the buttons out of the holes with deliberation. "Do you believe that I have somehow deceived you? I made it clear that this goes as far as the young master wishes. I will admit that I have largely encouraged your... curiosities, but can you truly claim that my actions were not conjunct with what you desire in the first place?"

"The last time we were in here... together..."

"I can confess that your faculties of reasoning were impaired that last time, but all the same you enjoyed that." I reached the last button and Ciel shifted to allow it to fall off his shoulders. "And might I remind you, you did not cut that short out of disgust. Quite the contrary, you left to your room to pleasure yourself."

"You knew about that."

I slipped the cloth of his shirt past his thin shoulder and set my lips to the warm flesh. In a low voice I replied, "Every time the young master pleasures himself, I know about it." A small moan escaped his lips. This compelled me to tug the shirt off him instead of folding it neatly. My bare fingers danced down his spine to the waist band of his trousers.

Ciel whispered, "You are filthy."

"If you think me filthy, then what are you to say of how you react to me?"

"Shut up."

His last order was an invitation to silence my lips with his and I accepted his kiss. My hands roamed to his front where I unfastened the buttons of his trousers, slipping down his legs. His breeches followed soon after and he gasped into my mouth as he felt the warmth of his clothes left his lower extremities exposed. "It's so cold..."

"In a moment I can assure you that will not be a problem." I felt his goose pimpled flesh on his thigh and his naked form shivered under my touch.

His slender legs wrapped around my waist as I lifted him, his erection pressing against my abdomen. I spoiled sensitive flesh, my fingers squeezing at his rear, caressing the warm centre between his cheeks. He gasped and he laced his grip in my hair. The blush cascaded down his neck as I playfully prodded against his puckered entranced.

"What are you doing?" he yelped in response.

"Does my little lord not like it?" His blush deepened.

"It is... embarrassing."

"You will enjoy what I have to offer all the more if you relinquish these silly inhibitions. Allow me to make you more comfortable." As he was lowered to the plush cushions of the couch, I hovered over him, one of my knees positioned next to him, with my other leg braced to bear my weight. His eyes widened from being placed in such a vulnerable position. My hands grazed over his hips as my lips descended over a pink nipple. Ciel gasped from the sensation and he bucked when my skilful fingers lingered close to his begging arousal.

His erect organ slipped into my hands and gently my thumb massaged the underside of the tip. I pumped to the base and tightened my grip on him as I ventured towards the tip again. He brought his hand to his gaping lips as he tried to stifle a wail. "I wonder, young master; how do you stroke yourself?" I continued this slow process, making sure to collect the fluid to lubricate the hand that fondled him. I snaked an arm around his back as I nipped at a hardened nipple. He continued to moan from my touches, and so I glanced at him and pressed, "Well, are you going to tell me?"

Between gasps, he breathed, "Y-you are not – uhn… fast enough."

"Oh, but you seem to enjoy this leisurely pace. If I were to go any faster, I imagine you will expend yourself much too soon." I lapped at the other nipple, causing it to bud up. My cool breath on the red flesh sent him into another fit of moans. "We are just getting started, my little master."

He whispered, "Sebastian, I want more."

"More?"

"What other pleasure can you show me?"

As I lifted myself from the couch, he appeared to regret the loss of my touch. "Sit up." I knelt on the floor, my arms positioning his lap in front of me.

The boy still wore those stockings and so I peeled them from his calves, leaving kisses on his knees. He held his arms around his chest, cold from the lack of contact where so much of our heat was concentrated. My touch travelled over his thighs, to his hips and I pulled him to the edge of the couch. I laid a kiss on his belly, my chin grazing against his still-erect prick. My tongue slid into his navel and he jerked.

"Place your hands on me, young master." Small fingers caressed the back of my head as I nuzzled his manhood. I revelled in his sweetly sinful musk, purred from this heady odour and my lips swept against his pubis where dark hair curled. Ciel clenched into my scalp.

"Sebastian, what are you—oh!" my tongue grazed his organ, taking in this taste of corruption. The boy’s dark and subversive nature saturated his fluid, and I was desperate to taste more of it. I wanted to send him into a state of delirium with the level of pleasure I could give him. I placed my lips around the crown of his shaft, lapping at the slit, hoping I could find another trace of his essence there. A moan strummed deeply in my throat and I no longer wished to contain this hunger.

My lips pulled away from him, resting on the very tip. "Sweet hell... you taste delightful." I spoke against his heated flesh.

"You tr-truly are… ahn… deplorable, Sebas… tian."

"And I think you enjoy it." The shame shone scarlet on his cheeks, and down his chest. As I grazed my lips over the ridge of his erection his lips formed an O. "But we can stop, if you so choose. You can simply dismiss me... and you can finish off yourself." I reached a hand to clasp around his base and flicked my tongue against the nerve that ran underneath his bulging cock.

His twitching grasp forced my head down as he bucked his hips. I accepted all of him into my jaws, assuming his action was a direct order. He cried at the sensation of my lips pumping over his length, my nails pressing into his hips.

"Sebastian... oh, yes..." He relinquished his control of my head and instead his hands caressed his chest, fingers rolling over pert nipples, sending him even more pleasure. To see my master in such a licentious state urged me to offer more. I wanted to tread further and engage the boy in other lewd pleasures.

I pulled away for a brief moment. "Place your feet on my shoulders, young master." He did so and I pulled him closer, his rear nearly off the seat. I had access to so much more of him in this position. "Grip the back of the couch."

"Why?"

"I assure you, you are going to need something to hold on to." Despite catching sight of my devious grin, he heeded my advice. I lifted his knees to his chest as my tongue roamed to the flesh that hung between his legs, and beyond to a rosy centre. My tongue flicked and prodded against the tight entrance and he inhaled sharply, grasping the headboard of the couch.

"Sebastian, why are you..." he gasped as I lapped to soften the constricted muscles, wetting this hole, and Ciel mewled at this new sensation. I lowered his feet to my shoulders to free my hands, brought a finger to my lips and sucked messily.

"Do be patient, for this may feel strange." I slipped the wet finger between his cheeks and he recoiled from the sensation as it penetrated him. My other hand caressed his rump reassuringly. "Relax your hips, let them drop." The pressure slowly eased around the digit inside of him. He rested his weight on my hand that held up his rear. "Oh, good boy."

As he rocked, my finger jerked inside of him, sending a new sensation through the boy. He cried out in surprise. "Wh-what was that?!"

"Oh? This?" I pushed further and he yelped again, his erection twitching from the pleasure erupting from his core. "It appears the young master did not know he could feel that." I pulled my finger away to sink it into him again and he quivered from the burst of pleasure it gave him. "Have you never touched yourself in this manner? Were you never the least bit curious?" I slowly continued this action, revelling in the shocked exhilaration blossoming over his features. His eyes fluttered and lips hung agape. "I think I could make you climax like this, young master."

"Oh my God..." he tilted his head back.

"He has nothing to do with this." I pumped into him with eager aggression. He bayed at the sensation and I felt his grip on my shoulders. "Call to me, young master. I am the only one who will hear your pleas." He clung to me as if I was all he had, this dark reality.

The tip of his cock dripped with more fluid and I lapped at it, causing him to gasp. "Yes, yes, Sebastian, do that."

I chuckled. "Would you prefer I finish you off in this manner, my young master?"

"Uhn... oh shite..."

I suckled at him. "Will you come for me, my lord?"

"Oh... please..."

My lips circled about his cock again, and he bucked into the now familiar pleasure. Teasing him to the brink, I sucked then pulled up from him. "You must be desperate for release, to ask so politely." I descended once more to pump him with pursed lips. His chest reddened as his breathing grew ragged.

"Sebastian, I want it, more...." I moaned against the head of his prick reaching the back of my throat. As I bobbed over his twitching length my finger hammered a furious rhythm at the root of him. His toes curled as the soles of his feet pushed into my shoulders as I crushed him into the couch.

"Oh… oh – Sebasti… ah!" He trilled with mad pleasure as he bucked his white fluid, and I could not stifle the groan that escaped my lips. His effluence coated the inside of my mouth, and I revelled in the taste of salt, debauchery, deeper than sin, more convoluted than I could have anticipated. The boy's seed seeped down my throat, grasping at all parts of me, as invigorating as water was to a parched man in the desert. He quelled my hunger... and fuelled it all at once.

His body relaxed, coming down from his climax. I slipped my finger out of his entrance. His legs slumped down my back as he rested the crook of his knees on my shoulders. His grip loosened and I grasped at his sides as I buried my face in his abdomen. I trembled... visibly trembled from his essence filling me. I had not realized just how much my body had been this empty chasm until that moment.

"Oh... my little lord..." My defences were weakened by the taste of him. I pulled him onto me as I disgracefully sat on the floor, petting his back. He clung to me, agreeable in his spent state. I kissed his jaw, tasting a hint of that same corruption in the sweat that beaded on his skin.

I would have lapped at him as eagerly as a cat, if he had not ordered, "Dress me." I complied, setting him back on the couch as I collected his clothing dispersed about the room: slung over a chair, crumpled on the floor, lazily folded in a seat. I wish I had taken better care of them, noting how they had wrinkled. Ciel noticed how my fingers quivered as I worked the buttons of his clothes. Doing my best to smooth out the wrinkles, he still appeared a little dishevelled on the edges, and I could not quell the impression that I had failed as a butler.

He moved to sit in his leather chair and picked up his pipe. He packed it in his usual manner and lit it with a flourish. I stood slightly distant, at a loss of what to do with myself. Underneath his calm, collected exterior, turmoil raged, as evidence to the manner in which he puffed desperately at his pipe.

"Sebastian, sit." I settled in the seat across from him. He gestured to his pipe rack on the table between us. "Please, help yourself."

"I do not care to—"

"Don't argue with me."

I chuckled at myself, thinking it silly how only moment prior I had my young master in the most compromising position and yet I felt reluctant, sitting as an equal. Nonetheless, I picked up the least expensive Upshall and tamped a bit of the tobacco in the bowl.

He looked me full in the face. "What did we just do?"

"Do you ask that question in a literal sense, or in a rhetorical sense?"

"I mean it in the sense that I am not quite sure what this entire affair means." He sucked on his pipe eagerly, trying to calm his nerves. His free hand clung to the arm of his chair.

I smirked and took a drag from my pipe, feeling rather smug with myself. "It is not necessary to assign this tryst any meaning."

"But what is to come of all this?"

I looked away from him. "Whatever my master wishes to come from it. Do you wish to end it? Now that you know what it means to feel real pleasure, do you prefer to just forget it ever happened?"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I do not think I could forget it if I wished." He sighed and set down his pipe. "I feel as though I will not want to. But do you not see? I just committed a horrible act against Lizzie."

"Young master, you are not the first to commit adultery against one's partner."

A grim expression sat on his lips. "She must not find out about this, Sebastian."

Hurting Lizzie, her discovering just how depraved her fiancé truly was, and disgracing his family name were his primary concerns. I nodded my head resolutely. "She will never learn of the events that took place in this room, my lord." Hopefully that would be enough to calm his fears.

As he sat in continued silence, I thought to the next prospect of laying my hands on his heated flesh, hearing him moan, and tasting his debauched nature. Perhaps my quickened breathing, thinking of such things, was what caused him to jerk his head in my direction. I was already in a prone position, feeling that my unexpected hunger for Ciel had worn at my defences. He sensed it, and this rare moment both baffled and intrigued him.

"Sebastian, you must answer these next several questions completely. Do not skirt around what I have to say. Do not twist your words so they may be misinterpreted. I want straight forward, untarnished facts." He tapped the pipe in the ash tray, tamped it with more tobacco and lit it once more. "Do you understand?"

I tried to hide my apprehension. "Yes, my lord."

The words were as palpable as the smoke that left his lips. "Do you desire me?"

My head screamed, _no no no... for all that is unholy...._ but the word that escaped my lips as though it was pulled from me without my consent was, "Yes."

"And this is not just my soul. You desire my body."

I gripped the arms of the chair. "Yes."

"Did you receive some pleasure from this... dalliance? How? In what manner?" He took a drag from his pipe, calm spreading over his disposition. It set me on edge.

"Yes, young master." I had to look away as the words spilled from me. I could not tell lies. "Young master is so perfect when he feels passion. I taste your malignance in your skin, your lips... and every fluid that rises to the surface..." I did not want him to know my trump against him, and I felt that my loss of control had taken its course to an undesirable consequence.

A smile twisted his features as he understood this implication. Where prior he felt reluctance and inhibition, this playing chip meant he was back in the game. I had underestimated my charge. Even if I had been bested in this small way, I entertained the possibilities of what Ciel would do with this new development.


	9. Chapter 9

Just as an ashy odour had impregnated the smoking room, the affair that played out on our private stage would settle into our minds and no miraculous act could wipe the stench clean. The only solution was to mask the evidence. Ciel had marched out of the parlour, a room that reeked of tobacco and sex, his head held high with some new resolve. He refused to feel guilt for the deceit he was enacting against Lady Elizabeth, because according to his adolescent logic, such a sentiment was not necessary when exerting complete control of the entire affair.

This is not to say he discontinued seeing his relationship as high priority. If anything, he became neurotically attentive to it. Ciel slipped into the role of a gentleman at the drop of a hat: accommodating, sensitive and respectful. He understood the importance of mending the terrible blow up between them, and feared the consequences of not making it a prerogative. Any other young gentleman would have seen to this duty out of remorse for the pain he had wrought, or the guilt he felt from his own shames. I was convinced Ciel could feel neither. His motivations were purely to appease Elizabeth so as to not cause disruption. Nonetheless, he wore the expression of one who felt the oppression of the world’s collective sinfulness, as if one minor transgression was capable of such a penalty.

Through the afternoon, Elizabeth remained quiet in her room, requesting tea in solitude and insisted that she would leave for her home earlier than scheduled, despite a late evening arrival to the Midford manor. She insisted she had her studies to attend to, and that her mother would appreciate her devotion to her education. Elizabeth made this request in a most formal tone, sitting on her couch with her tea, as her betrothed stood by the doorway, reluctant to encroach. She sat with an air that demanded her space not be impeded, for her lady-like sensibilities had been violated enough.

After she had left the manor, Ciel arranged to have flowers sent to Miss Midford every day for the next week, each bouquet bearing some flowery rendition of "I'm sorry," "please forgive me," "you are pure and virtuous," "my heart aches for your approval." The letters he wrote were far worse, grovelling, pleading messages that made him out to be a victim of his own short comings, and yet he was seeking council to improve himself for her. They were all saccharine lies that Elizabeth would devour without question.

I smiled upon the whole development as a tutor who would grant approval to his protégé. For the moment, I preferred Ciel to act with some semblance of control and poise whilst lavishing his apologies, for it made quelling the suspicions of the servants that much easier.

They were by no means ignorant to the couple's conflict, since it was I who insisted that Mey-Rin be the one to see after Elizabeth and ensure her comfort. No doubt the young girl divulged what had happened, hoping a woman would sympathise. Of course the maid gossiped with the other servants, and consequently their behaviour was affected. They eyed him critically over dinner, commenting that he did not appear the least bit guilty over how he treated poor Lady Elizabeth.

After dinner, I ordered all of them to the kitchen for a firm discussion. Tanaka, on the other hand, knew the lesson of irrefutable devotion as butler well enough.

"I would like to know just how aware all of you are to the events of today," I stated. While my tone rang with a light-hearted air, my resolute demeanour was anything but. It was enough to send them shivering, awaiting some reprimand.

Mey-Rin decided it best to stand forward. "Please don't be angry with me, Sebastian! Lady Elizabeth was just so upset, and any one would admit that the young master must have been out of line for her to be so distraught!"

Her statement was met with approval, Bardroy nodding with a "yeah," arms crossed. Despite his boorish disposition, he would be so bold as to assume he knew how one acts with honour and decency.

My raised hand prompted immediate silence. The three stood stiffly. "Despite what personal opinion you may have on the matter, these sentiments will absolutely not affect your attitude or service toward the young master. He has had many pressures on him as of late."

Their interest piqued by my last comment and I realised I should have kept it to myself. On the other hand, Ciel was in need of a little sympathy in the manor.

Finnian spoke up. "What sort of pressures, Sebastian?"

"This is the sort of conversation I will not tolerate among any of you," I quipped.

"You brought it up," Bardroy retorted.

Finnian added, "Yeah, and we're just concerned for the master, is all."

Even if they had Ciel's best interest at heart, I added, "The master's business is his own. There will be no more discussion of it. Anyone heard speaking ill of the master again will result in severe consequences." My eyes pierced as I glared at each servant individually. I had them all sweating bullets. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir!"

"I'll leave all of you to clean up from this evening's meal." I turned on my heel to leave, feeling young master ordering for my presence from the other side of the manor, crisply sensing his need.

His confidence in the affair was rooted in the knowledge that I craved him. In some prideful way, he saw this as truly filthy. He could logically explain his need for some sexual release; He was a young man with needs, sometimes tension has to be relieved, occasional relief eases the stress of putting on the airs of public decency. I was the perverse one for having hands that craved his skin, lips ever eager to sink around him while listening to his groaning for hours. Since the truth had been forced from me, I could no longer deny this, and yet I sneered at his hypocritical logic. Was it not him who originally saw an attraction in me? Was it not a short time ago that he was an addled mess over the matter? Of course he had forgotten his initial fears, for they were overshadowed by swollen pride. Be that as it may, I let him have his pride, for it kept him from being a nervous wreck over the immoral treatment of his fiancée.

After our encounter in the smoking room, he was reluctant to summon me again for any other rendezvous. He did not wish to appear too eager, because to do so was to admit to some awful truth that made him feel vulgar. I knew this was part of the allure for him, to yearn for something so sickening and then to conquer it. A condescending glare communicated his belief that he had somehow won his dominance over me. The manner in which he displayed and affirmed this perceived dominance was undeniably amusing.

I was not irritated by his discovery that I received some pleasure from our encounters. He was rather clever after all, and in a small way I had anticipated him uncovering it, even if I had given very little away. I had forced myself to be restrained in my actions with him, denying myself expression of my own pleasure. There had been small instances where I let a moan slip, or perhaps I caressed him a little too eagerly. Even so, my displays were minor in comparison to how much I could affect my little master. In those heated moments, decorum was not so much set aside, but rather thrown to the wind. After the episode, he would pluck up his decency like a discarded shirt and wear it again as though it were of no consequence.

As a result, he was rather careless over the whole affair, but I minded little, for his attitude implied that he did indeed trust me. He was so confident that nothing awful could come from this secret arrangement. Daresay I was flattered and thus motivated to not betray this trust. After all, I had everything to gain from such course.

While adamant about ensuring our intimate exchange would continue to go unnoticed, there were moments when I questioned whether Ciel concerned himself over the possibility of us being seen. His actions escalated in recklessness over the course of the week.

On one such occasion, I saw him slip out of his library, lips pursed. I had finished unpacking the master's summer wardrobe, and when I came across him in the hall, he was quick to pull me to his level and forced my lips on his urgently. My eyes widened not so much from the gesture, but the scent of sex and the taste of debauchery on his lips. As he opened his mouth and I felt a foreign yet familiar substance slip into my mouth. A pulse shivered though me and my suspicions were delightfully confirmed.

The boy had been in the library, pleasuring himself, no doubt. The refuse of that deplorable act was decidedly collected and he wished to deposit it to me. How perverse, I wondered, but still I found the gesture a little endearing, not to mention arousing. I would have like to deepen the kiss, further explored his mouth for more of that taste of his seed, but as soon as it was deposited, he pushed me away. I braced against the wall as my head spun from this unexpected treat. He glanced over his shoulder. "Woof."

My hands visibly trembled from this exchange and this result gave Ciel no end of pleasure.

I found my own arousal near-impossible to ignore most days. He wore his seed as though it were a cologne, and to add insult to injury, he would step just a little too close for what was considered decent, knowing that I would smell sex on him. Most evenings I was dismissed with no satisfaction, and instead I would rush to my own quarters to violently relieve myself of my own tensions.

He rarely wished to lay his hands on me, in favour of being absorbed in the pleasure I gave him. It was not to say that I craved attention from him, seeing as how the day's schedule revolved around the young master, but I did enjoy some small gesture in reciprocation. In the heat of the moment he pulled at me, as though I could not be close enough. Indeed, when the king’s armour fell to his feet, I was able to see my master as his genuine self.

* * *

On a lazy Saturday morning during at breakfast I informed the young master of no appointments and a clear schedule.

“You know how I hate to waste a day on nothing," Ciel grunted, stirring his tea. "I would practice my music...”

“-but you no longer have a violin.”

The irritation was sketched across his brow. “Sebastian, after that day in my music room, when I came back that evening after supper I found the smashed violin was gone.”

“I cleaned the mess you left, young master.” He bristled at the comment.

He assumed that by “cleaned” I meant disposal. In truth, I found every scrap of that violin and had gone so far as to reassemble it, with a few moderations. As to not give the master any indication of my questionably subversive behaviour, I had yet to discover just how well this corruptible instrument could sing.

“Perhaps it would be a good day for shopping. How would the young master like to take a small trip to London today?"

"Very well, have Finnian prepare a carriage."

The gardener was more than excited to be the one to ride us into town. Bardroy exclaimed, "Why does he get to be the one to go to London?"

I explained, “The young master and I have matters of music to discuss, in regards to the charity ball, if you must know.” Never mind the fact that the vast majority of the young master's visits to London were solely accompanied by me.

Finnian's enthusiasm turned to discontent when as soon as wheeled down the drive way and through the gate the clouds turned grey and resulted in a most unpleasant storm.

“We picked the worst day to visit the city,” Ciel huffed as he gazed out the splattered window. He leaned his head into his palm in boredom and tapped his foot in irritation. “Sebastian, while we're out, I would also like to pick up a present for Lizzie.”

“Very well, young master.” I stared out my window as well with a calm indifference, trying to ignore how Ciel splayed his legs in such an undignified manner.

“I don't know what to get her.”

“Are you suggesting I make a decision for you?”

“I suppose I'm asking for your help.”

I chuckled. “The last time I picked out a present for Elizabeth—”

“Sebastian, must you always be so contrary? I just don't know what girls like, is all."

“You could buy her a new hat.”

“She has lots of hats, one for every outfit. She likes her hats to match her outfits, so if I were to buy her a hat, I might as well buy her an entire ensemble.”

“Well, why not?”

“I don't know her measurements, Sebastian.”

“Would you like me to find out?”

A horrified look spread over Ciel's face. “You can't just ask about a young lady's measurements.”

“Yes, I suppose buying her an outfit and it being tailored perfectly to her would look a little suspicious.”

“It would be more than suspicious.” The boy crossed his arms. After the young couple’s last encounter, there was no need to imply that Ciel had the intimate knowledge of the young woman’s figure.

“So clothing is out of the question.”

We sat in the tense air of the carriage, rain pelting the top, its clapping providing some relief to the uncomfortable atmosphere.

“Do you suppose a book would be sufficient?” Ciel pleaded.

“It's a rather cold sentiment, considering the both of you have known each other for so long. It would be a nice gift for a small, informal occasion, but honestly, if you have to ask...”

“Sebastian, I'm terrible at this.”

I had sympathy for the boy who was clueless in these matters. He knew that society constantly watched the couple, assessing all their actions at every social event they attended. Ciel had been known a few years prior to be rather unsociable and had to strive to raise his reputation. Elizabeth was a tremendous help in this regard and thus received the opinion of many that she would make a successful wife. A few others added sourly that it was a shame that such a prized woman was arranged with the unsociable Phantomhive. While he made his waves in the business world, he would always flounder in social circles.

“I have an idea, young master. Does the lady wear perfume?”

His eye sparkled as he rubbed his chin. “Sebastian, that's a brilliant idea. She's always wearing something very flowery, like so many other girls, but I don't think she owns a true perfume that a lady would wear.”

We agreed that visiting a perfumer would be added to our trip.

When we arrived, the streets filled with mud that stunk of the effluence of the city, as though the bricks of the buildings were infused with the smell of gin and excrement. It was always necessary for us to pass through East End to reach the cleaner, brighter heart of the city. Even still, the Opera Arcade looked morose under the day's deluge.

Having a much keener sense of smell than any human, the young master was grateful to have me accompany him to the perfumer. We settled on a bottle of Jicky for the young woman. The perfumer was under the impression that Ciel was there to buy the bottle for himself, but upon mentioning it was a gift for a lady, the surprised merchant insisting on boxing it lavishly. After the gift was handed to the earl, the man behind the counter commented, "This lady of yours must have a passionate spirit." Ciel looked away, grinning sheepishly.

As we left with parcel in hand, the little earl inquired, "What did the perfumer mean by his comment?"

"You mean how he assumes that Lady Elizabeth must be a passionate woman?"

"Yes, how would that relate to preference for perfume?"

"Young master, you must not have been paying attention to all of the perfume's notes. Initially, the citrus notes are vivacious to the point of being overwhelming, but it settles into something elegant and powdery. There's an underlying _fougere_ that is densely earthy and wild, suggesting something darkly secret, but it is tempered with lavender so as to be a little more feminine."

The boy stared at me as though he had missed a good story. "I didn't catch all of that. But it did smell rather nice."

My hope was the Lady Elizabeth would be captivated by such an alluring scent. She was the sort of girl that teetered between wishing to comport herself with feminine civility and wishing to be romanced by that of a more sinister nature. While she would never admit to this, her attraction to Ciel was more than girlish fancy; her eyes spoke of the darkness that she sensed in the boy, even if it was on some subconscious level. Such things were frightening to her, or perhaps she was frightened just by her very inclinations to the sinister.

Nonetheless, knowing the girl's scent from memory, I knew her wearing this perfume would turn heads and raise compliments. She would be considered not only classy but decidedly modern. In addition, the act of Ciel gifting this romantic item spoke much to the maturity of the two individuals, as well as the level of their relationship. The boy would not admit it, but once again, I had been responsible in deciding a stunning gift for the woman.

Finnian carted us to a prestigious music shop to purchase the master's new violin. He hunched on a side street while we spent quite a bit of time determining a suitable instrument. Ciel had become so very picky, wanting to find that right violin that could be an extension of his own "voice." What the boy lacked in olfactory senses he made up for in his ability to discern the slight auditory variances in each instrument.

One violin played a minor key with great depth, but lacked an appropriate octave range. Another one, slightly lighter in build, seemed to hiss under the master's fingers, and he very nearly threw it from himself upon hearing it. "Do you have anything better?" he urged the merchant, starting to grow rather impatient.

The older gentleman excused himself to a back room. He returned with a box in hand and Ciel swallowed a gasp when the lid was removed. The violin had a cherry red finish, gleaming as though the wood could have been mistaken for glass. The neck was sensual, a perfectly proportionate length, the scroll at the end flamboyantly constructed. The body swelled erotically, and it was heavy to hold for its elegant design. Ciel held the finger board at first position and the bow ran a silky chord through the store. A couple on the other side stopped to turn. As the bow was pulled back, a flourish of notes leapt forth and resounded with an eerie high F in vibrato.

"I'll take this one."

"Good sir, are you going to inquire as to the price of this violin?" Ciel looked at the merchant as though he was out of his mind. He motioned me to pay the man.

I laid a purse of sixty guineas on the counter. "Do you think this would be sufficient?" It was the merchant's turn to look as us as insane. I gave him a simple smile, as I was inclined to do in these situations.

My little earl declared. "Do not take me as a fool, sir. This is no modern violin. This is of Italian design; from its proportions, I would say late Baroque. The finish is new, a pity really, but this ornamentation is extremely outmoded." Ciel chuckled. "It has aged well, and this wood is extremely dense. The acoustics are what I need in an instrument."

I decided adding another ten guineas would help to send the message home. The master always got what he wanted.

The man offered a black, velvet-lined case complimentary to the purchase, but I decided to pay him another two guineas for his politeness.

When we were back at the carriage, Finnian asked, "Will you play for us when we're back at the manor, young master?"

"Sure, whatever you want."

The sun perched low and a new formation of clouds loomed over the landscape as we bumped along the road back to the manor. As it would be dark by the time we arrived home, Finnian stopped the carriage to light his lanterns in the front. Ciel insisted he would much prefer to sit in the dark.

"I get the impression my young master is in one of his moods." I suggested in a light-hearted tone.

"And what if I am?"

"I just find it curious, is all. You have little reason to be." The light was dim, the sky giving the impression of twilight, even if it was only quarter to five.

We listened to the wheels churn down the road. Ciel barked, "I know you did something with my old violin."

"Oh?" I leaned forward. "What gave it away?"

"Because I know you. You would have righted it immediately, but it has been some time since—”

"Since you broke it."

Ciel huffed and slouched in his seat again.

"You didn't throw it away." The boy was absolute in this assertion.

"Correct."

"You kept it."

"Hmm."

"...Did you fix it?"

I hoped the boy could see that vicious glean in my eyes.

He bolted out of his seat. "So why did we even bother going into the city? What purpose do I have in buying another god damned violin?" His voice was rising to a level of indecency. Surely Finnian would hear.

"You will not be able to play it, young master."

The boy did not understand what I could have meant by this. Of course I was toying with him, on the verge of angering him. I had little care, for I was in a mood to excite the boy in some fashion, after him having the upper hand for a better part of a week. He had no understanding of just how uncouth our game was going to turn, how his perceived control was really a lie he told himself. The poor boy would not have even admitted that what little power he had in this game was because I granted it to him; I did so only so I could revel in taking it back.

"Perhaps when we arrive at the manor, I will show it to you and you will see why you cannot play it."

A look of confusion glossed over the boy's featured. "Could you not return it to any original condition? Was there some flaw that could not be mended?"

"I can assure you, young master, this was not an issue."

"So I'm assuming it plays as it did before."

I replied slowly, "I cannot be certain of how it plays, precisely." While I had not actually played the instrument after mending it, I was pretty confident that I had changed its acoustics.

"Damn it all, Sebastian, enough of your cryptic horse shit. Just tell me what you did to my violin!"

"The violin is played _a sinistra_."


	10. Chapter 10

"Where is it?"

My lips curled from his clipped tone. "The violin? In my possession."

He clenched his teeth, shaking in an effort to contain his irritation. "I'll be in the music room. Bring it to me immediately."

"Yes, my lord." How dare I take something that was not mine? I acted out of line, but was that not one of the tactics of this game in which we dared to dally? Perhaps it was not the violin that caused his anger, but rather my inclination to keep secrets.

I retrieved the violin from the bottom drawer of my armoire, tucked under linens, as if I had someone other than myself from which to conceal it. The clicking of my heels penetrated the silence of the halls as I hurried to the music room. The warmth of lit lanterns diffused the grey atmosphere of the parlour. Imposing furniture cast shadows too deep as the storm pelted against the window. Ciel's new violin lay in its case on the table, untouched. Upon my arrival, he stood from his Tudor chair as though welcoming my performance.

"Give it here." I obliged the young master, and as he grasped the instrument in his left hand he immediately sensed a fundamental change in its composition. "What is this?" He looked at me with confusion and disbelief. "You've ruined it! What kind of sick joke is this, Sebastian?"

I plucked the violin from his twitching hand and placed it underneath my chin to my right. Raising the bow, I proclaimed, "Do you remember what I said of such an instrument?"

"Something about how you would prefer to play left-handed? So you would go behind my back to merely indulge this peculiar notion?"

I raised the bow from the table in my left hand waved it with a flourish. My contract seal tingled, for I was eager to direct a very nefarious concert. "Yes, but it is so much more than an indulgence for me. It is also an opportunity for you. You remember I said to you that you have never heard me truly play."

The young master eyed that bow and folded his arms. "I also remember you saying how the whole instrument had to be reconfigured, a mirror image, as it were."

"Indeed. Not only was the instrument restrung, but pegs were also reversed. I had to alter the bridge so the strings could be laid properly. Even the instruments innards had to be flipped to compensate for the proper acoustics.” I caressed my chin into the body. “Lastly, he now prefers I lie upon him on this side."

"So it's supposed to play differently now?"

"My young master, in theory it should sound like a normal violin. The difference is in the musician. The bow is the active, projective force when playing the violin. For most good gentlemen, dominance resides on the right. Now, if one were to utilize the projective act on the left…" I slid the bow across the strings, and a note wept from the beautiful creation. “Does it affect the tone, feeling, essence of the music? I suppose one could say my virtuosity is borne of my sinister nature.”

I fingered a trill and so many notes spilled over themselves, pooling around me. Ciel's eye widened in disbelief, having never seen a sight as strange – as if a mirrored image was misplaced in solid reality where it was never meant to exist. He felt it best to sit back down in that intolerably stiff chair.

Minor chords wound from my fingers on the neck. The bow caressed across him as smooth silk cords, cajoling him to submit his secrets. I swayed to this weeping, all the while paying attention to the boy as he gazed in awe. As I seized on a jarring chord, he responded with a jerk. Sonorous notes tied in and wound tension around passages that gripped the heart in suspense and unease. I eased a gentle, final note that rippled the air. The stillness that followed was just as jarring and Ciel grasped at the arm rest of his chair.

"Sebastian... how is it that I never knew...? I've listened to you for years. You've instructed me and...."

"You have only ever heard me play 'properly,' young master. It is rather restrained in comparison to this, do you not agree?"

He nodded. "What were you playing?"

"Oh, I am not finished. But I am surprised you are not familiar with this composition, my little lord. Well, it was only the introduction. Perhaps you would like me to continue?"

Despite a nonchalant wave of approval, a cerulean eye carried a heavy certainty. "Indulge me."

The bow dashed and my fingers danced as a jerky rhythm took hold of me. I fell into this bizarrely chipper cadence where underneath its surface resided an impish quality. Recognition dawned on the young master's face. "Surely, not. This is."

"Yes?" I continued my frenetic pace.

"This is Tartini."

"Very good, young master." I delved into the manic melody harder, the notes more urgent, and the scales escalated in raucousness.

"Did he not sell his soul for this very composition?"

"There have been rumours of such, but only rumours." The violin squealed at this speed, and while limber fingers could maintain the pace, my thoughts began to whirl with this jarring melody. The energy of the music palpitated as it rushed up my arm, the seal burning with enthusiasm. "But such a composition is challenging for even the most skilled violinist. That is, unless they were given aid by some outside influence."

The melody ebbed once more, and the morose chords pooled about us. Ciel rose from his chair, to shuffle towards me. I pressed on, wanting to take him into this abyss, knowing I was the only one who could.

"I... can't stop shaking. Sebastian, what do you do to me?" His voice rattled with uncertainty. His eye glistened and I watched his control flicker away as though tugged apart by so many strings. My black-tipped fingers danced upon the neck, and their influence compelled Ciel to respond as if they skimmed over his own flesh. In his eye I saw the acceptance of a very grim truth that he so desperately wished to deny. The song I played was of him: heavy, mournful, and removed from grace.

The weight of the melody lifted and I trembled as I flew into a flurry of erratic scales once more. My young master responded with hitched breath. A force of heated timbres, sinister and intense, coupled with passages of mournful weeping teetered on the edge of instability. Ciel clutched at himself, being swept through his own polarizing conflict. On the verge of breaking, the aching in his heart worked itself over his features. As the young earl was apt to do, he charged headlong, past the fear and timidity aside.

His soft hand caressed my cheek.

Oh, how the contact drew me into this corrupt cadence even further. My fingers jerked over the neck, my bow thrusting harder, singing obscenities that pained the ears and could tear a heart from the chest. Such a reaction further encouraged his need to reach for me, to touch the source of all his conflict, as well as the salvation from it. I felt his hands tugging at the buttons of my jacket, but I refused to stop. As he reached the buttons of my shirt I realized he had never seen my bare chest. Fingers crawled over my flesh, and the song became a torrent of maddening arpeggios, with chords that rung of an otherworldly nature. I gulped at the air, as I drove harder still, and the boy moved to grasp me from behind. I felt his ragged breath on my neck, his body pinned against my back, clutching and clawing. He tugged at my waist band and danced bare over my hips as the music swelled with an untold agony, airing the harsh secrets we never dared to display. Those perfect hands of Ciel took hold of me, desperately erect, and it was at that point that I came undone.

My vulnerability was displayed before him, and nothing could have compelled me to cease. Let him see me undignified, wretched and wanting, I thought. I was swollen, and his grasping drove my violin to moan, scream, notes hyperventilating. One last painful pitch ripped from my being and Ciel's nails dug into me, as though fearful I would dissipate into the ether along with that damning sonata.

My arms went limp, and I set the most precious implement of music on the table, for it had performed its work. The boy continued his deliberate stroking. Nervous breaths resounded where once the haunting melody had occupied the twilight space. I would not dare to move, for fear my master would be discouraged in giving me this pleasure. Could it be that I was overwhelmed by his blatant want? Never had he been so forward. Not only that, I was startled by this aching, the sheer force of my desire for my young master, which made me that much more aware of my ever-present emptiness.

His hands were so soft. I stared at a blank spot on the wall, not daring to look down at how his fingers slipped over the head, tracing across the underside of my organ, following a pattern of grasping, tugging, and then gentle stroking. All of this sensation caused me to tighten, trembling from the pressure. I was the servant, and here I was being serviced.

My young master whispered, "Sebastian... I want to kiss you."

I spun around, grasping the boy’s face in my shaking hands, and his wanting lips parted, receiving mine with a moan. His lips puckered around a nipple, and I grasped at his hair, undoing the silk strands of his eye patch that was cast aside to reveal an iris shimmering. He deftly unbuttoned his own top.

Ciel murmured, “I want to feel you.” Never had the boy made such a request. It was neither demand nor order; it was genuine desire. This realisation inflamed me with even greater want. “Ah… this, I can't stop—”

"Do you want to, my young lord?"

He pressed hard against me, his voice trembling from the contact, flesh on flesh. "I think this goes far beyond simple desire... hah..." he placed a wet kiss on my chest, and I felt the graze of his teeth, the heat of his tongue. "What is this cruel need you have instilled in me?"

My teeth grazed his neck and he yelped. I grasped at his rump and sighed into his ear. "Perhaps you now have some understanding of the burden I have carried with me these long years, young master." His tongue traced my collar bone and he struggled with the buttons on his trousers. "You are entitled to know these secrets so long as you have the courage to seek them." His erect cock slipped free. "And I know my little master cannot resist continuing to play with fire." Our erections met, and a quick graze against the other emboldened our urgency further.

He pulled at me, led by my loose shirt, beckoning me to the bench. As he lay over the cushions, the fabric from his shirt parted further, shorts slinking down his bottom. He pulled me onto him, his hips bucking to meet mine. Bodies collided, hip to hip. Clothes hung from us most undignified, wrinkled and pushed aside, but we cared little.

Ciel gasped from the contact, heated prick rubbing against my own, and our touches overwrought with passion. Grinding into him I let out a sigh, and in that moment Ciel understood that he had my full, complete, unwavering attention. His fingers traced along my back, underneath my open shirt, the neck tie long forgotten.

"Sebastian.... you are so warm..." he nipped at my chin, wanting to hide the blush of his face while I continued to grind against his hot organ. Hips quivered and rocked, his back arching exquisitely.

"Please, young master, do not cease with your indulgences."

I caressed a cheek and he collected my fingers in his own. "Your hands... having done unspeakable things... and yet I sometimes I frighten myself with how much I crave them." His eyes were ablaze as his tongue traced over my knuckles, lips ending at the seal... and I felt as though it were being burned into me all over again. It was appalling how sensitive one's hands could be. Taking one of my fingers in his mouth, a shock spun itself down to the core, and I bucked in response. His breath hitched at this unexpected pressure, and we were both growing slick against each other, urging us to rock faster, grind harder.

With each thrust my young master produced a quivering moan. I felt his sweet breath on my face as I bestowed to him fervent kisses. He grasped my shoulders in pleading desperation despite his fragile frame.

"How can I... want you so much? How is it that such a desire feels so... necessary?" His frustrating thrusts felt as if finding a release could not come soon enough. Fingers slid down my neck, through my hair. “What sorcery have you worked upon me, Sebastian?”

The pleasure was mounting as fluid collected between us. My arms wrapped around his thin torso, holding him down as my hips gyrated in a circle... over, and over, a pulse he could not move away from.

I whispered in his ear, "You know my secret, how I cannot resist you, your smell, your taste, the sounds you make... and the truth of it is... no one has ever desired you more genuinely than I have. No one ever will, because no one can know you as completely as I."

The truth of it was written as shame on his face which he tried to shield behind a trembling hand. "No." I pulled it away and kissed his palm. "Look at me." My hair curtained around him, a fortress enough. "Do not hide your face, your precious face." My hips pulsed harder. His body tensed, trying so hard to push the inevitable away. "Come for me, young master."

Despite how I clung to him, he bucked under me. Sweat collected on his brow, rose in his cheeks, lips swollen red. His features tensed further and further, until the pressure spun itself loose and he crashed into his orgasm. I held his face, staring into those wide eyes filled with horror to be so exposed to me. Regardless, he clung to me as he rocked through his pleasure.

He had not simply climaxed from the stimulation. Here I was privileged enough to see a sight so gorgeous as my young master's face blooming with unbearable pleasure. His seed collected between us, and I hungrily pushed between his thighs, desperate for closeness, desperate for my own release.

"Please, young master, let me have this." The friction of his thighs rubbed over me, and I took this as a sign of approval. He buried his face in my chest as I kept thrusting, rocking him violently in the process. I allowed myself to finally acknowledge my own bitter truth; I could don the mask of a servant so well that I had forgotten my own nature. Ciel was a damn fool to allow such intimacy, and I was a damn fool to succumb to it. In that moment, I had never been so acutely aware of my starved condition.

The mask fell and my pleasure peaked, fingers twisting in the boy's hair. A feral grunt caused him to tremble under me, and all I could think was, _"This is mine. Mine, all mine."_ Hot seed poured and it did nothing to quell that emptiness. I felt more of a husk because of it. The swell of sensation left me cold and bereft as I descended. My breath rattled. Why was I so shaken?

When I looked into his face, coming off my orgasm, a solitary tear perched on his right eye. I kissed it away, tasting conflict and sorrow and wondered how none of that bitter flavour manifested on his face. Such a tender gesture compelled him to wrap his arms around my waist, easing me down. My elbows propped me up above him, casting his face in deep shadow. A minute passed, each of us breathless as we stared unbelieving of what just transpired. Finally, he said, "What is this? What are we doing?"

His question brought me to my senses. We were in such a state of disarray. For once, I had lost track of the time. The sun was quite low. Bard was in the kitchen by himself. I had no idea where the other servants were, much less whether they had remained on task without my supervision.

I lunged for my discarded waistcoat, pulling out a handkerchief to clean off the young master. We were a deplorable mess. Why was I still shaking?

I noticed a crack in the door, and I distinctly recalled shutting it when I had first entered the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Beyond the door and into the dim shadows, I heard a heart flutter with anxiety. Mey-Rin was backed against the wall opposite to the music room. She covered her mouth in some vain attempt to silence her gasping.

She had seen.

Furthermore, from the speed of her pulse, she had not just stumbled down the hall and caught the briefest moment. No, my best guess was she had been standing there for quite some time eavesdropping.

_Best not to make a scene of it,_ I thought to myself. _Act as if there is nothing amiss about this situation. He will not notice_.

I reached for the eye patch on the floor, knowing this position would place me in Mey-Rin's line of sight, and glared with displeasure. Upon receiving that brief glance, she rushed down the hall. She would have been unable to avoid me for long. I turned toward Ciel who had a resolute calm to his exterior, his heart a steady rhythm, but his eyes were glazed with a far-off look, as if loaded with a jumble of thoughts.

I had difficulty reading that expression.

Ciel noticed my hesitation in picking up his eye patch and sat up. "Is something the matter?" If the boy were to find out that we had been spotted together in such a “vulgar” state… His paranoia would surely take hold of him, and to avoid another mishap, he would reject any more interaction.

"Not at all." I tied his eye patch and wiped him clean with my handkerchief. The boy blushed from the mess he was, feeling embarrassed from my care. Ciel kept his eye averted for fear his gaze would be caught in mine. A bath after dinner would be needed.

"Please excuse me, young master, for I really am... late, and I am needed in the kitchen for dinner preparations." I sighed with apparent irritation, more towards myself than anything,

He rose from the bench and walked to the table where his new violin lay untouched, yet to be given the attention it deserved.

"It would be a shame to not become acquainted with this new instrument, since you had gone through such trouble procuring it." I bowed and turned to depart for the kitchen. "And please forgive me for taking so much of your time this afternoon."

Ciel positioned the violin under his chin. He replied in an even voice, "There's no need for an apology, Sebastian." He moved with a calm demeanour, but his visible eye glimmered, and there was that look again. My brow twitched. That curious expression was as unsettling as the undercurrent of a calm ocean. "I anticipate dinner this evening."

"Very well, my lord."

I stomped to the kitchen, my mood turned apprehensive. Having been caught by Mey-Rin was one thing, for I could contain that situation well enough. My issue was with Ciel's sudden shift for I could not explain why it placed me at such unease.

When I struck the door to the kitchen, it flew open and crashed against the wall. I met the smell of a meat pie in the oven and a large pot of water bubbling on the cooker. Bardroy sat at the table peeling potatoes, or rather attempted to, a mess of skins spread about him. He looked up and flicked a piece of potato off his lap.

"'Eya, boss." He saluted with the paring knife in hand.

"You will address me formally, Bardroy, and what is this bloody mess?" He scoffed in return, but I ignored it as I pulled the meat pie out of the oven. "It is a relief I should arrive before you burn dinner, again."

"I wasn't gonna let it burn, Sebastian."

"Of course you were not. Not while you are too busy butchering potatoes."

"Whaddya mean? I'm peelin' 'em!"

I plucked a skin off the floor, pinching the thickness of it. "See how much potato you are hacking off with the skin? How wasteful."

"But I gotta work quickly, because my pot's already boilin'."

I shifted the pot on the stove and turned down the gas. "Yes, already about to boil over. Must you have the gas so high? Honestly, I am beginning to see it all clearly. Your prolonged exposure to noxious fumes is the reason for your loss of common sense."

He rose from his stool in offense. "Why ya gotta be so cri-ti-cal? Eh? ‘Sides, where were you this whole time I've been slavin' away in this kitchen?"

My eyes whipped in his direction, glaring, and Bardroy cowered in response. "You would dare to question me?" I scowled and he clasped his hands together in a pitiful supplication.

"I'm really sorry, sir! It won't my place!" He pleaded in that awful accent.

"Very well. Please do not prostrate before me. Get these pitiful things into the pot before I chuck them at you." I gestured to the heap of potato on the table. I began pulling ingredients from the cupboard: flour, eggs, sugar, butter, soda, yeast. "Thank you for leaving the butter out to soften." I pulled the glass bottle of milk from the ice box.

"Just doin' what you said."

A quick dessert of sponge cake would have to suffice for the evening. The eggs folded in with butter and sugar, and I sifted in the dry mixture, whisking all the while. Bardroy liked to watch me mix baking ingredients. I would always catch him out of the corner of my eye, his mouth gaping as if he were a cod. Sometimes he would whisper, "Like a machine." I chuckled and added a dash of milk to the mix.

The pans greased, oven warm, I was pouring the batter into twin pans when Mey-Rin stumbled into the kitchen clutching folded tablecloths and napkins. She gazed at the floor with comical determination. Good, maybe looking at her feet would prevent her from tripping over something, I pondered.

I slammed my mixing bowl on the counter, its abrupt clap causing the maid to jump. In my chipper sarcasm, I commented, "So glad to see the tablecloths were laundered in such an expedient manner." If I were not careful, my vitriol would drip into the cake.

"Beg your pardon, Sebastian, sir. The rain put a damper in the dryin' today, it did, and you know how dryin’ in the attic takes longer," her murmur trailed off as the blush spackled over her nose. Her pace quickened to the linen cabinet on the far end of the kitchen.

"Mey-Rin." She flinched. Even Bardroy perked up from her nervous behaviour. "I must have a word. Meet me in the hallway." I turned to Bardroy. "Watch that stove. It must stay at 180°, Celsius, not Fahrenheit, for goodness sake. Watch that clock," I pointed to the clock above the stove. "Twenty minutes. Can you pull the cake out in twenty minutes?"

"Aye aye!"

I stated twenty minutes because I knew the chef would lose track of time, and by twenty-five minutes he would smell the cake, realize he had lost track of time, and pull out a perfectly baked confection.

"And do not get ambitious with that cake. It sits on the counter to cool!"

His shoulders slumped. "But... what if I want to put the filling on it?”

"Out of the question!" With a wag of a gloved finger, I left him with the hope he would pick up on my short temper and do as told.

I turned to the matter at hand. Mey-Rin was shaking in her boots on the opposite end of the hall. I sauntered forward, perhaps a little too close for comfort. "What is the meaning of you peeking into the music room this afternoon?" My voice demanded authority.

She wrung her hands, fidgeting with her apron. Of course she would be terrified, praying I would not bring attention to the matter, but that would have been irresponsible of me. I had already made a minor slip, and it would be disastrous if I said nothing, thus running the risk of letting her gossip over what she saw. Would I consider her capable of such an act, destroying her master's reputation? Not necessarily, but these servants had difficulty in matters of even the most basic self-control.

"Answer me."

"S-Sebastian... I d-don't know what to say..." Her heart palpitated as her palms heated and moistened.

"Okay, let me rephrase the question for you. What did you happen to see?" She backed against the wall.

She gulped. "Must I say it?"

My eyes were as needles piercing into her.

"You were on top of the young master... I could only see a bit… but he seemed to be enjoying it very much." She gave a sigh and started fanning herself.

That was when I sensed that sweet musk, brimming with pheromones, pulsating from her. Subconsciously, she pressed her thighs together to ease her tension. Such a scent can breach the thickest of petticoats.

My eyes widened, which could have been mistaken as shock at her comment. I thought to myself, _oh my, how perfect, how very serendipitous._ I had known for quite some time that Mey-Rin had always fancied me, but this new development made my job so very easy. I chuckled and leaned in closer, my eyes softening, lips curling, and with hushed tone, I purred, "So please, indulge me. Did you enjoy what you saw?" A hand snaked around her waist and her breath hitched once more. I thought her glasses would start fogging.

She stared into my eyes, and her knees shook. "My word, Sebastian, how can you ask me such a wretched question?"

"Because I can tell you were aroused by it. Do not lie to me. Just thinking about it right now excites you." I removed her glasses. "My, look at those eyes, just shining with want." She was not going to stop me. I lifted her chin, nipping at her jaw. Her pretty hands tugged at my wool jacket and she squeaked.

I whispered in her ear, "I have a proposition, my rotten little maid." She was nodding before I had even given her my offer. "Speak nothing of what you saw. Pretend you saw nothing. If ever asked, you would never dream of such a thing. Promise me to keep your silence, and I will be at your bedchamber tonight. We will speak more of our secrets. Is it a deal?" I crushed her against the wall and she moaned.

She jerked me down to her level, encasing my lips with a soft pout. Such an interesting scent: sugar and lemon, a woman's musk and witch hazel. I would play along, I decided, and dipped my tongue in that wanting mouth. Her moan deepened, and I shushed into her lips. "I will arrive at your quarters at midnight. In the meantime, please clean the front parlour. It needs dusting and the floor could use a good scrubbing." I kissed her again, holding her hips, and I knew that she would follow any order given.

"Okay. Yes, sir."

I took a step back to let her pass, and I patted her on the rear for good measure. "There is a good maid."

She bounced away, and before turning the corner, blew me a kiss. I heard her trip over the first step leading to the main floor.

* * *

 

My young earl continued displaying this pensive attitude over dinner, receiving all courses with little reaction and sipping at his wine nonchalantly. All the while, I sensed no anger or frustration.

"Might I inquire, young master, are you well?" I removed a picked-over plate of food.

"I'm fine, I suppose. I have a lot of things on my mind."

Dessert was carted out, and I set a piece of cake before him, layered with sweet buttercream and berry preserves. "Perhaps the master would care to discuss such matters before he beds down for the night. A frantic mind will keep you awake."

"I appreciate your concern, Sebastian, I really do." He took a bite of cake and paused a moment, savouring the texture, the sweetness, the interplay of flavours. "This is really good cake, wow." I was bewildered by such a forward comment. I knew that my artistry could never be denied, but when did the young master ever express such appreciation?

"I am flattered, young master."

"Anyways, I would prefer to sort out my own thoughts, without any influence or council." He said no more on the matter, preferring to indulge in cake.

His dessert plate empty, he rested his napkin on the table and stretched from his seat. "Sebastian, please draw a bath for me."

Why was Ciel using such manners with me? What was he playing at? Was he trying to throw me off guard? What is this change in his demeanour, when I could feel something boiling underneath this calm exterior? I decided against commenting on this change, believing that my mention of it would cause him to drop the niceties.

The usual, short-tempered boy beamed, his sanguine features suggesting I follow. His eye pleaded an unspoken desire. I was sure that if I were to pull off the eye patch, it would shine before me.

"Will the young master need any assistance this evening?" He looked away, but remained silent. His head hung from his shoulders, as though defeated that he could be read so easily. While the boy had proven that he could attend to his own personal needs well enough, it had been weeks since I assisted in his evening bath. I was reluctant to admit that I missed it.

The halls were quiet, our sole company being the sconces lit along the walls. Despite our solitude, he murmured, "I suppose I could use the pampering tonight."

By this point, I was astonished. Was he not going to put up a fight? No snide remarks? He was receptive to any suggestion that I would give, whereas before I had to fight for any sort of reciprocation.

As I ran the bath water, I performed routine evening tasks: coking the fire, hanging clothes for the next day, setting aside towels and a night shirt. Lavender scents from the bath placed Ciel at further ease. I suggested light reading while I prepared his bath, but he waved the offer away, preferring to stare into the fire.

I announced, "Your bath is ready, young master." After ushering him into the steamy washroom, I pulled off the gloves. While I was accustomed to wearing a pair for the master’s bath time, I dared to forgo them. Ciel made no remark on the matter.

Some months ago, this ritual was a matter of course. Its absence forced the realisation that I craved the experience. I needed to savour him and I would have found a thousand ways to accomplish this, every act of service, every pampering gesture, every order fulfilled and every desire sated.

I ran naked fingers through his hair, wishing to relax him. Ciel responded with a sigh, head bending toward my hand. I kneeled to slip off the shoes and he bore his weight on my shoulder to keep balance. He shivered as I shed the stockings from his calves. To unbutton layers of clothing caused my fingers to ache. My lips grazed over his bare abdomen as the shirt was pulled from his shoulders. I smelled our lingering sex in his flesh. He held me there, cradling my head against him.

"Young master, will you now tell me what is on your mind?"

"No, no speaking... just..." His breath rattled in his chest and I pulled the trousers from him, my fingers itching to dance upon his hips.

He urged me to continue, kisses trailing over his midriff, his organ perked. I took all of him into my mouth, erection blooming, thick and full. He whispered, “Oh Sebastian…”

I moaned against him, feeling his hands on the back of my neck as his hips tilted forward. His soft fingers tangled my hair, Ciel desperate for something to cling to. With arms around his thighs, I anchored him, hands trailing up the small of his back. He teetered on the edge of dropping his weight against me and falling. From my vantage my knees could bare me as I brought the boy's legs to my chest.

I glanced up to see him staring down at me, mouth agape and breathing heavy. He pulled the hair from my face, and I gazed back up as my tongue lapped against his length. His fingertips danced around my features, tracing my brow and across my temple. I slowed at this tender gesture.

Was that what was in his eyes, tenderness? Gently, he pulled at me and whispered, "Don't stop."

I bobbed against him, lips pulling at him, and reaching back to encase him once more. "Yes, yes..." the words came strangled as he bucked against me gently. The muscles in his rear tensed in rhythm to how I swallowed him. His thickness was such a delicious weight on my tongue, and I flicked against the underside of him. His toes began to curl, and I pulled him closer.

His orgasm crashed against me with a rampant force, and he curled around me, a guttural cry, his hands grasping for my shoulders for support. My hands tightened around him, my arms as coils to keep him upright. My mouth held all of him, his seed on the back of my throat, so hot, to feel his desperation and loneliness once more. I moaned against him and he trembled with it, for there was more to this sensation. This broken boy was carrying something in addition to his corruption, something akin to hope. It was subtle, an under note to his usual taste of despair.

And it ran through me as a furious wind, where pillars which held aloft my pride were toppled, and the foundation of my being shaken. My beautiful master was turning to poison before me, with a light that had no business taking hold of him. He did not taste as before.

... I felt bereft.

He, by contrast, appeared relaxed. He blew a deep sigh, wiped the sweat from his brow, and pulled from my arms. Without a word, he dipped into the warm bath water, a light steam still meandering from the surface. He sunk back, taking pleasure in the warmth that enfolded him, until his face slipped below the surface. He lifted himself up again with the same unhurried motion.

As he wiped the water from his eyes, I inquired, "May I make a comment, young master?"

"I suppose."

"You have been uncommonly appreciative of my services, as of late.” I lathered soap into his ashen hair.

“How do you mean?”

"I am not accustomed to your praise. And you have been... dare I say it, tender with me." I adored the form of his neck as he tilted back to rinse the tendrils of hair that floated through the bath water as smoke.

Half-submerged, he bobbed deaf in the water, staring at me. He rose to reply, "Okay, I'll be candid. Something you said this afternoon has been on my mind."

"Oh?"

"That you are the only one who can know me so genuinely, and so completely."

"I see."

He held out his arm for a lathered flannel, and I massaged each finger pad, between digits, under nails. He gazed at my efforts with rapt attention.

"I don't even need to ask if you were being truthful. It's not a matter of needing verification," he clarified, anticipating that I was going to insist in my honesty. "I just know."

"How do you know?"

He closed his eyes, as though leafing through his thoughts. "I'm just being truthful with myself." His lip quivered. I considered how his inner condition once felt so clouded, turbulent as an approaching storm. The storm within him was breaking, and I had no explanation for it.

He tossed a foot over the rim of the tub, expecting the same detail of cleanliness be given to them. He moaned at the sensation, and through the water I saw his organ bobbing up once more. He would have me again, possibly more of me if I so pushed for it. I would satiate him again if asked, and I was relieved he did not.

I saw the brand under the water as I scrubbed his shoulders. It would forever be a blight upon his flesh, but what hurt within him was healing? I found the possibility to be rather unpalatable. "And what is this truth you have discovered within yourself, young master?"

He hesitated in rising from the bath, muscles warmed and unwilling to bear the slightest strain. He leaned against me as I patted him dry. The boy's hands left wet marks on my jacket, and I did not know if this irritated me or not.

He slipped into his nightshirt and tucked himself in the covers. He gazed with such large eyes, and I was so unnerved I kept my own view downcast. “Come here,” he beckoned, palm outward. I shuffled forward, and he tugged down at my shirt, capturing my lips with his.

Ciel gave a kiss.

I had to steady myself against a bedpost, otherwise I feared collapsing. He must have taken my shuddering as a good sign, for he deepened the kiss, sweet as the sponge cake I served him earlier. I only wished to avert from his fluttering tongue.

I gathered the strength to not flee from the room. Who was this boy?


	12. Chapter 12

I was grateful to have a late night appointment away from my master, some other activity to give me preoccupation. After that kiss, it was all I could do to whisper "sweet dreams" and shut the door softly behind me when what I desired was to flee from his affections. I could not understand what shocked me more, to be wanted or my reaction to being wanted. The whole situation left me in some confused, bitter mood. Mey-Rin was willing to be a convenient distraction from these thoughts, so it made her eavesdropping all the more serendipitous.

Mey-Rin's quarters were situated far on the other side of the manor, apart from the men's quarters, and even further from the master's. While servant’s quarters were always segregated, they were typically not so separated, but with Mey-Rin being the only woman in the house, it was easy to accommodate. Also, this allowed for her to be quite a bit closer to Elizabeth's guest room, so to better attend to her needs when the lady was visiting.

Narrow stairs led to the doorway and while I could have brought a light with me, I had little use for it in those dark hours. Its purpose was more for others' benefit. I tapped on the door, just enough to give a gentle alert. Not a second after the maid rushed to answer my knock.

"You appear eager this evening, Mey-Rin," I said, amused.

She blushed from the comment and shuffled aside to welcome me. "Would you come in?"

A single oil lamp was turned low on a bedside table, but its dim light was enough for such a cramped space. The embers in the wood stove had burned low, softening the prick of the chilled night. The kettle atop it poured a lazy thread of steam. Boots were discarded at the foot of the bed, and her uniform was neatly hung, already pressed for the next day. Save for a chest of drawers with mirror and wash basin, and a rifle by the bed, she kept the room sparse.

She closed the entrance. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Surely you were not expecting to entertain for a late night tea party."

She wore a simple shift of cotton that hung from her shoulders. She clasped at her bare arms as she looked down at her stocking feet, perhaps sensing the chill of my gaze.

“Truth be told, I don’t know what I’m expecting.”

Feeling it best to not delay this dalliance, I clasped those soft arms and she jumped. "Nervous?” I ventured. She squeaked in response, her lips pursed, and the blush crept to her forehead. “Oh my, please do not tell me this will be your first time. I could not bear it."

"Of course not!" Mey-Rin squealed. I pulled her glasses from her face and set them next to the wash basin. “Please don’t take my glasses! I can’t see!”

“What is there to see? After this afternoon, do you not think you have seen enough?” I chuckled at her blatant embarrassment as she clutched at her burning cheeks. “Now now, I am not here to ridicule you, even if I am a little surprised by your reaction to me and the master.”

The mere mention of him brought me back to earlier events. I imagined him writhing under me: brows knit, mouth agape, my hands forcing him to not look away—

Her shaking hands reached for my face, gazing at me with unfocused, dazzling eyes. “I must confess something, Sebastian. I just… I’ve dreamt of this, many a night, I have.”

She traced my features, as soft as rose petal, unexpected for a maid whose hands are always busy scrubbing something. I leaned into the caress. “By ‘this,’ are you referring to having me in your bed?”

My hands found purchase on her back, muscles fluttering underneath thin cotton. She whispered, “When I saw you with the master, I kept thinking… how I wanted to be under you, in that music room.”

As I descended over her slender neck she moaned and rose on her toes to give me better access. Soft hair cascaded over shoulders and swept over my face. The pheromones bloomed from the flesh, a subtle eruption of sweet musk, trepidation and excitement. I grinned into that petal skin, knowing full well I would find much pleasure in slathering her with serpentine words.

She tugged at my wool coat. “Sebastian?”

Lips brushed over an ear. "Yes, dear?"

"Um... I have a question… Do you ever wear anything else other than a black suit?"

 _If there was ever a way to destroy a mood..._ "It is what my young master has provided me. Would you prefer I wear something else?"

"I'd prefer you wear nothing at all." She immediately clasped her hand over her mouth at the statement. My barking laughter did little for her embarrassment. "I'm sorry! It just came out!"

"Well, now would be as good a time as any to let it all out, would you agree?" I pulled the gloves off and set them neatly over those spectacles, Mey-Rin watching with curiosity.

"Are your nails black? What is that on your hand? Looks awfully suspicious, it does." It was for this reason I took the glasses from my far-sighted maid. In such tight quarters, she would have trouble making out any real detail, even more so in dim light.

"Do not ask questions. You might not like the answers you receive." My bare hands trailed over the goose- pimpled skin of delicate arms, feeling it best to keep the focus on her and her own pleasure. “Mey-Rin, I want you to undress me.”

A strange thing happens when a woman is met with a sordid encounter such as this. She is filled with such trepidation, for such endeavours require quite a lot of personal investment. That unmistakable fear cascaded with the arousal in her features, all wide eyes and rosy cheeks. Ironically, it is this fear that causes them to leap toward sinful desire.

Her hands moved with determination, peeling off each article and hanging them with care. With my bare chest revealed, she planted kisses, fingers trailing down to slacks. She handled me with a certain reverence, not unlike how I handled my own charge. While I was receptive to the affection, her lips warm against my skin, I could not immerse myself in this moment, for all the thought I was giving to my young master.

I stepped out of my slacks, drawers soon to follow. Mey-Rin looked down and exclaimed, "Good Lord in Heaven."

“Excuse me?”

“It’s… it’s big.” She covered her face in shame. “Goodness me—”

I looked down myself, thinking, _Am I really that big?_ _Not when I’m soft like this._

This situation was not arousing in the slightest. For all of our pawing at each other, Mey-Rin’s desperate kisses, my urgency, the only thing I wanted to have on my mind was Ciel and his touch that could have me erect with no effort. I wanted to preoccupy myself with this attractive woman before me, and all I could think of was the very situation I had wanted to escape moments ago.

It was maddening, to feel like such an idiot.

She would not notice my personal difficulty if I wore that typical veneer of flawlessness. I did not want to offend the poor dear, after all.

I pulled the strings that held the cotton shift on her shoulders. One tug exposed a breast and she gasped. Another string snapped free and the fabric pooled around her feet. She lifted her heavy breasts like an offering, eyes shimmering and expectant. "Oh how delicious.” I pulled her to me, she on the tips of her toes as I laid kisses on her chest. As my cock twitched against her soft mound, sweet arousal blossomed from her.

"What is so special about the master? He's a boy. What can he offer that a woman can't?"

"What did I say about asking questions you do not want an answer to?” My hands tangled in her hair as lips trailed along her collar bone. “Besides, why does anything excite us? I would not waste a thought on why seeing me with the master has affected you so. I simply acknowledge that it does."

She grasped at my shoulders. "You would take advantage of me because of it."

"You want to be taken advantage of, you lecherous maid. And I tell you a secret- the young master wants to be taken advantage of as well," I whispered in her ear.

"Do you like to prey on the weak?" Her full breasts pressed against my chest.

"It is more accurate to say I prey on the desperate and the depraved - there is not necessarily weakness in those qualities." Her lips on my cheek requested a kiss and she moaned at my impassioned response. I breathed into her parted mouth, “You are not weak, and he is most certainly not either.”

Mey-Rin pulled me to the bed, legs splayed in this “come hither” fashion and I played along. For having such a bashful disposition, I was surprised by her passionate affections: the nips at my neck, nails in my back, pulling my hair and the violent crash of lips. She desired me, and I cannot deny how pleasurable it felt to be wanted.

Ciel wanted me, so how was it that I wanted to shy away from that? Did I not initially instil that desire in him? No, I had only encouraged the feeling, and his feelings were always his own.

Mey-Rin sensed my distraction, and brought my attention back to her by tugging at my less than erect length. Her deft fingers knew where to place the right amount of pressure to remedy that condition. I hovered over her and allowed myself to enjoy the sensation, all the while thinking to myself, _It feels better when he does it._

“What are you thinking about, Sebastian?” Mey-Rin inquired.

As her hand slipped under the length of me to reach for my sack I shuddered. “About him.” I was swollen with the thought.

"It is so very lecherous, it is."

“Indulge me, what was on your mind when you came across us in the music room?” My hands trailed lightly over her hips. “What did you see?”

She flashed the most impish grin. "Well, I was only walking past, because I had to fetch the linens from the attic you see. We all heard the music playing, surely it was not the young master playing, and he’s talented, but not like that."

"Thank you." I felt rather smug from that compliment.

"Well, the music stopped as I was coming down the hall. I can't quite explain it, but it... did something to me, I felt caught. I approached the door, hoping to hear more, and I swear I wasn't going to disturb you two, honestly! That was when I heard... moaning; and I heard your voice. The acoustics are quite good in that room, they are. It was then I peeked in to see... oh I can't say it!"

My hands travelled to a warm slit, fingers feathering over the folds. Her voice quivered and legs spread further hinting that I should continue my travels. "Oh please tell me more."

"The way you move your hips, and how the young master arched his back. And how he came... like he fell to pieces. Oh I can't believe we're talking about this!" Her voice raised in pitch as I continued my explorations, growing slickness between my fingers. "It was despicable, but I couldn't look away, no sir."

The topic of discussion had her pulling at my erection with fervour, or perhaps she was encouraged by my panting. To watch that boy’s climax was as brilliant as a looking glass shattering, a brief moment where the light reflects in all directions and dissipates to haunting stillness.

“He had his hands on my cock, Mey-Rin.”

“Tell me, what did you do?”

“I kept playing the violin.” Those quivering petals were so wet.

“Wait, he was jerking you while you were playing the violin?” An amused expression flipped over her face as she continued to work my now thick organ. “Dirty little bugger,” she giggled.

While I had lavished attention over his boyish figure and responsive nature, did he find anything particularly appealing about my physique? When he had my cock in his thin hands, was he aroused by it? Did he really want it? _What would I do if he really did?_ I ached over the thought of it.

Mey-Rin inquired, “What other sort of deplorable things have you done to him?"

“Might I demonstrate?” I moved her hand away from my heavy erection and moved lower, needing a moment’s distraction. Pressing a trail of kisses into her belly, I roamed downwards as I positioned my hands underneath her thighs.

She must have understood what my intentions were and squealed, "Oh my goodness, you mustn’t!" then laughed and attempted to squirm away.

I held her fast. “Oh I think I should. And you cannot say you do not want me to.” She relented, allowing me to dip into the apex between her legs. Her strong scent, an animalistic heat, fresh and wanting, filled my awareness and I craved it.

A single kiss for that flower caused her to relax and open completely. Legs draped over my shoulders, her hands shook, and I spread lips to further expose a petite bud, red and full. As my tongue flickered over blazing nerves, her hips trembled violently and Mey-Rin gave a strangled cry. I looked up to see her hand over her mouth, the other on a breast. Taking in her nectar, I tasted desire and loneliness, shame and liberation, the salty tang of a woman in heat. Such a sweet libation to offer to debauchery, and I felt the tightness winding within me.

"It's never, hah— felt like this, Sebastian."

I rose slightly. "Quite a pity, that I should be the one to introduce you to this pleasure."

"Hardly a pity."

In some small way I could have felt flattered, but I was too busy churning through my own conflicts. I ached for the woman who would give herself so easily to me. Lips smacked over the pulsing bud, and I dipped a finger into her wet entrance, soft and tight. Grazing over a ridge caused her hips to jerk. I continued this pattern, sucking and nibbling, stroking and pressing, and it was not long before Mey-Rin belted a gorgeous cry, her body riotous life, sex pulsing, wet overtaking, hips bucking and toes curling. I tasted want, the primordial lust and unshakable instinct to survive, perpetuate and fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Sebastian, you can't be human." Mey-Rin's head was on the pillow, eyes closed, thighs still quivering.

"The sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair..." that slit was engorged, entrance puckered and beckoning me in. I mounted, being reminded of such a heavy scripture, feeling so swept in an ancient need to feel the glory of creation once more, and to utterly corrupt it. Distended and eager, I pressed into swollen flesh, a slow impalement. Mey-Rin ground her own hips up to me, seeking the fullness. Her hands clawed at me, uninhibited need, teeth gritted, and as I slipped in completely her mouth formed an O, heavy lidded and pink heat splayed across her breasts.

"Yes, yes, Sebastian... oh do you wish you could take your master in this manner?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

I wish she had not opened her mouth again, or looked at me with such conceit.

"If given the order, yes, I would." Another thrust. The thought flooded my mind and I felt a quiver in the core of me, imagining Ciel in this position, legs hoisted high, smelling his need and sweat on my bare chest. I ground into the woman, feeling her tighten against me.

I had only told a half-truth; yes, a thousand times yes I would take him more completely than this cunt.

Having me sent her to new levels of confidence. Her lips curled as she purred, "But you can't take him like you can a woman."

I slid out and forcefully turned Mey-Rin on the bed, fed up with the sight of her smug face. "On your knees," I commanded, then parted her wet little swell and entered roughly. She howled in response. “Yes, you women must consider yourselves to be in possession of something quite special.” I thrust hard. “An orifice to fuck.” She was much tighter in this position. “And you think my master is incapable of supplying that? Honestly, woman, how do you think men sodomize one another?”

Mey-Rin panted, "You are diabolical."

"If I were truly diabolical, I would just take you truly as I would my master. I suppose I can spare you." I whispered in her ear, “While I would prefer his tight ass, your hot little quim is servicing me well enough.” Above the yelps of that woman I considered how desperate I was for him, all of him.

“Yes, yes, harder, oh—" I grasped at those wide hips, thinking of how delicious it would be to have Ciel's rear pushing against me, his heat, and I drove violently into the woman. She reached between her legs, pawing at swollen folds, I felt her heat expand, and again she jerked into a furious orgasm, the walls clenching over me, the pressure seductive.

"Mey-Rin, keep at it and I just may lose myself," I gasped.

She was incoherent, screaming into her pillow, jerking wildly as she rubbed furiously at a swollen pearl of nerves. "Don't stop! Fuck—" and again she quivered, urging an erratic speed, and the climax seized me, pulling me into her, a swollen Abyss, putrid black, musk and pheromones peaking, my own violent release emptying into such an innocent vessel that I just could not take completely, despite a small urge to just be done with it and fill the emptiness... that I was reserving for some other soul.

I trembled and huffed, still embedded firmly in her sex. She looked very eager to simply collapse, swaying under me. Pulling from her, she flopped over, utterly spent and perfectly content with herself. She looked at me with eyes sparkling with affection and held her arms out, urging me to rest on pillowy breasts and thick thighs. I wanted nothing more than to leave.

I sat on the edge of the bed to regain myself. Finally, I turned around to look down at her face half-buried in the pillow. "Do not make a habit of snooping on my master."

"And if I do?"

I shot her a menacing glare. "You must not. You have your own reputation to consider as well." My black fingernails lightly traced over her stomach. "You really do not want anyone to find out about this rendezvous, especially the young master."

"He doesn't have to know."

"Of course not, but he is incredibly perceptive. Be careful." I rose from the bed, then pulled my clothes from the hanger on the wall and started dressing. "Remember what this is, Mey-Rin. I just extended to you a favour, in exchange for your secrecy and silence. Do not expect more than that." I turned to see a woman looking rather dejected. "Please do not tell me you were hoping for more."

She looked down. "Of course not… It was just..."

I did feel sympathy for the woman, lonely and awkward, scarred from her own past and hoping for some companionship at some point in her life. "Please understand I am the wrong sort to turn to for what you are seeking. And my allegiance is to my master and no other."

I made use of the wash basin to wash my hands, and slipped on the gloves. Checking my hair, I said, "Mey-Rin, I have a personal question, but I suppose there’s no need for formalities after tonight."

“Okay…”

“You are fertile. I can smell it on you."

In the reflection in the mirror I watched her face turn scarlet. “How could you—“

I smirked, “And you count your days, may I assume? Oh, you do not?” She shook her head. “I will have a tincture for you by next week." I turned. "You would do well to take it."

Realisation dawned on her face. "Hmm. Always the perfect butler."

"Naturally." I slipped on my jacket and gave an icy smile. "Good night, Mey-Rin. See you early."


	13. Chapter 13

**Part 3- Separation**

_A cyclone tears at you, for from this product of lust comes two warring essences. You have the strength to endure the mighty gale, and what remains is unclouded._

* * *

In brisk strides I hurried to one of the guest baths, rarely used and some distance from any of the servant’s quarters, even further from my master's rooms. The gas lamps turned low, I drew a scalding bath, hot enough to burn a normal man. The steam clouded the wash room, fogging the mirrors so I did not have to look upon my own reflection.

I eased myself in the blistering tub, muscles softening despite searing skin. I was red, blazing within and my head was soothed with the sweltering heat in the air. I had not given myself such luxury in quite some time.

I considered the events of the day. My encounter with Mey-Rin would be a complication. A small part of me was concerned with the possibility of Ciel discovering our dalliance. _Why would that be such a worry?_ I pondered. I bedded Mey-Rin because it was the easiest course of action to protect his own reputation. I had leverage over the maid, a reason for her to keep her silence. It made all logical sense to me, so why did I have this creeping suspicion that I had made some egregious error?

I concluded it best that he remained in the dark about all of it. He did not need to know he was sighted with me in the music room in such a lewd position or how Mey-Rin felt about it, or what measure I took to ensure her silence. Discovery would only cause further strain on the boy who had enough matters with which to concern himself.

Perhaps... perhaps it would upset him to know I had no qualms with bedding whoever I pleased. Sex is power, a potent means of obtaining control over another, and I delighted in how I could gain such control over my master through these means. I also delighted in soft limbs, his quivering form, his scent, the way his temples would break out into sweat from my touch. I craved him calling to me, the begging... and would he be furious if he knew I would give my attention to another, regardless of the circumstance?

The boy was possessive, no doubt, wanting control over what he claimed as his. As per the contract, I was property, and he had laid conditions that limited my freedoms. Still, it was foolish for any human to believe they could have complete control over a demon. Ciel, for all his cunning and wilfulness, was still rather naïve.

Was he naive enough to believe that he could possess me in some deeper way? Humans have strange ideas on how they emotionally possess each other. Never in all my years had I been able to make sense of the phenomenon… how humans take possession of each other without thought. Such a course appeared weak, and yet, why did such co-dependence lead to resolve, an unshakeable... dare I say, strength? I could never understand such a paradox.

_Would the master want such of me? For what purpose?_ The steam was clearing in the bathroom, and I glimpsed my reflection in the bottom of the mirror, fog still floated about the ceiling. This form was attractive, desirable. I pondered if the master was attracted to this form because it was simply in his nature to be so. It was a personal condition, to desire a male in a way that he was always meant to desire his fiancée. This truth was easy to understand, but why was I developing this suspicion that he was grasping for more?

I was completely adverse to the entire prospect, not wanting to consider these things. I cringed, even when the water was still quite warm, and the idea set as heavy as a block of ice in my chest.

I lifted myself from my bath, having spent enough late hours pondering these complications. Sitting and thinking had caused me further anger, and I resolved that I would resist speaking to Ciel on any matter at all. I was his butler, his servant. I had no qualms against fulfilling any order, and the simplicity of that arrangement had to be maintained. I would not push for anything further, for the boy would continue to crave me without my advances; of this I was certain. On the other hand, what expectations would he begin to place upon me?

* * *

Sunday was a quiet respite before the full schedule that awaited Ciel the following week. That Monday morning the Earl Phantomhive made correspondence with factories in London, Le Havre, Hamburg, Gdansk, Dublin, Ioannina, Modena and Philadelphia. Easter was to come early that year, the twenty-ninth of March, and with it being the sixteenth, factories were in final production for the holiday. The boy requested inventory reports, subsidized production and distribution expenses, saw that merchandise made its way to countless licensed shops, as well as figured projected sales. This was enough to keep him busy for the better part of the week.

In addition to all this, Funtom Easter merchandise advertised that ten percent of all profits would be donated to Lewisham Hospital, to build a new wing. His cousin Edward had been attending King's College, an institution closely tied to the hospital, which was why the boy decided this was where the charity would benefit him most. According to projected sales, this promised to be a huge sum. No doubt it would bolster the Phantomhive's reputation for philanthropy. Ciel had everything to gain from taking such a move.

Tuesday morning the young master received a letter from Marchioness Francis Midford:

 

> My dear nephew Ciel,
> 
> We do look forward to your visit Easter weekend. Goodness knows you have been working yourself to death, for my husband and I have hardly seen you since last Christmas. I approve of your commitment to your work. You continue to make the name of Phantomhive proud.
> 
> We have noticed the flowers Elizabeth has been receiving as of late. I cannot help but find it a little unexpected of you, but I approve of how you have been courting my daughter in such a feverish yet gentlemanly manner. When you visit, we have much to discuss on the matter, and I felt it only fair to give you forewarning of this. We expect much more of you yet, Ciel.
> 
> We recently received your invitations to the ball in May. We heard rumours of how influential this charity event will be and we applaud your decision to help fund Lewisham's upcoming renovations. Enclosed is our RSVP. I know it is rather early to be sending it a month in advance, hardly fashionable, but you are family.
> 
> When you do come to visit, please bring Tanaka with you. He has been a family friend for such a long time, and the idea of him spending Easter alone sounds dreadful.
> 
> Warm regards,  
> Aunt Francis

The young master found this letter disconcerting. "What does she mean she expects more of me yet?" The cryptic comment plagued him, distracting him from accounting figures. He placed a lot of value on his aunt’s opinion of him, and was willing to go to great lengths to appease her. He did not care for my assurances that Marchioness Midford would not ask something of him if she believed her nephew could not fulfil her expectations. This did little to put his mind at ease and he dismissed me in irritation.

Later I heard him screaming something over the phone in French to the manager of the Le Havre factory, and proceeded to slam the phone on the receiver and retire to the game lounge downstairs. He came to dinner that evening smelling of bourbon. He was not in a mood to be questioned, but I did not like to see my master under such strain.

I decided I would handle matters of the ball myself, considering that taking one less obligation off of my master’s mind would be the most help. I made arrangements to hire a string quartet in London for the occasion, which had a good reputation for these sorts of events. Invitations had been sent out, and no doubt more RSVPs would continue to arrive. Ciel would not have a word with me on the matter, irritated enough that a final shipment out of the Le Havre factory would be arriving on shelves two days late, cutting into potential profits over very time-sensitive merchandise.

"What sense is there in stuffed rabbits being on the shelves on the twenty-third?? Everyone does their spring shopping the weekend before Easter!"

He awoke Wednesday morning with an aching head, making work all the more strenuous. A less than productive day had only caused further frustration. By that evening, the young master was beyond stressed.

"It's always unfortunate when Easter arrives early," Ciel sighed as he turned over the coverlet of his bed and looked in my direction. "This week has been dreadful."

Candle light danced across his furrowed brow. He had an uneasy tension about him, the sort of fatigue a person carries with him when for as much as they would like to rest they cannot quell the endless worries in their mind. I stood distanced from his lounging form in the bed, a pillow tucked under his middle as he eyed me.

I felt a stirring, gazing over his reclined form. "I think a good night's rest will do you well." Another part of me did not want to encourage this longing.

"I am not tired."

"Perhaps I could fetch you a book?"

"I am in no mood to read." Heavy-lidded eyes suggested Ciel was in the mood for something else. He sat up to pull off his nightshirt. I knew he was wearing nothing underneath it, and the sheets of the bed pooled a little too low around his hips. "I could use a massage.” He smirked. “You can forgo the candlewax this evening."

I retrieved the massage oil from out of a vanity drawer after striding to the bed. I would forgo a lot of things if I could help it, but the manner in which he sprawled over the pillow tucked underneath him, and how the covers shrank back from his middle... I found myself once more sitting on the edge of the bed, gloves off, kneading bare skin and Ciel’s moaning was muffled by the pillows spread about his face. I had the distinct impression he was urging me to initiate some coarse action.

_Ciel only needs some brief distraction from the stresses of the day,_ I reasoned. He depended on me to provide that, and I could not help but feel a little flattered. Was it not one of my many obligations as a servant? The boy relaxed under my hands, so trusting, so pliant. He turned his head to look at me, his expression evocative with his fringe draped over softened features. That characteristic longing of his assailed me once again, the sort that was beyond mere desire for pleasure. It brought me back to thoughts of Ciel’s peculiar preferences.

"Young master, I must ask... what is it about me that you find so attractive?"

He sat up, forcing me to pause, his mismatched eyes meeting mine. "Why would you ask such a thing?" That scolding look indicated he was put off by such a brash inquiry.

"Is it a crime to be curious?" I looked down to his slim chest and my hands trailed across his collar bone, as if they moved of their own volition. He watched my fingers move across his skin and lowered himself back to his pillow. The simplest touch caused a fluttering in his chest.

Ciel murmured, "Well, Sebastian... um, I like your hands." He gathered my left hand in his own, his thumb circling over the seal.

My fingers tangled with his. "I am already well aware of this fact. Is it because you know the pleasures I give?"

In silence he took in the details of my hands, perhaps looking for some flaw. He would find none. His fingers fluttered over the palms, tracing lines and creases, winding around the mounds of my hands as if to divine some detail of myself. When one wears gloves often, it is a shock to register such gentle touch.

"I've always been curious about your nails.” He turned my right hand over to study them more critically. “It’s so unnatural for them to be this dark, and I know you don’t darken them in any cosmetic way. It has me wondering if…” He paused to crane his head over the bed, looking at my feet on the floor. Even the dim light my polished shoes still gleamed.

“What were you wondering?” I pressed.

Ciel would not look at me. “What of your feet?” He blushed from such a boyish curiosity.

I could not help but chuckle. "Astute as always, my young lord!"

"So would my assumptions be correct?"

"Quite."

"Might I see?"

I blinked in surprise. "Is the young master asking me to take off my shoes?" The boy nodded. I leaned over the bed to untie laces, dress shoes slipping off and wool socks following. Ciel peered over and his breath caught to see the shock of pale beneath the hem of my slacks. It must have been a strange sight. Formal work attire was the standard, professional, pressed, and polished. Here I was with my bare feet resting on the carpet in my young master's bedchamber. I stretched my toes on the soft surface, nails gleaming just as onyx as my discarded shoes. The boy looked incredulous, as if he had not believed me.

"Wow, so bizarre. What causes this, anyway?" He bent for a closer look so I leaned against the firm post at the foot of the bed, and rested my feet beside him, hands laced in my lap. _Decency be damned,_ I thought.

"If you must know... it is a shade of my true condition, manifesting itself despite this comely form." His fingers traced the bones over the top of my feet, and I shuddered. "I have endeavoured to act and appear human many times. With every contract I have made, I improve upon this mask. Regardless of how skilled I become at projecting this human form, some characteristics of my natural state must surface."

"Why is that?"

"Because no matter how well I can wear the mask, or act the part, I will always and forever be what I am."

He pulled my right foot into his lap, peering with acute observation as though it were an object to be studied. My breath suspended, his fingers trickled under the arch, around the big toe, and the contact was as a chord that shot through to the core of me. "... I think that is what I like about you most," Ciel whispered.

He was a dreadful distraction. "You like me because I am a demon?"

"No, it’s not that, necessarily. What I mean is— there is constancy to you. I can depend on you to be genuine with me.”

I was silent. The boy was so naïve.

Ciel lifted himself from the covers, and I was reminded of how he wore nothing at all, clambering over me to straddle my lap. His weight pressed into my thighs and my hands fell around slender hips. He caught my gasp in his mouth, a kiss wild and passionate and he cupped my face with such possession...

“I like your lips as well. I like how you close your eyes when you kiss me.”

“You still have more to tell, young master?”

"Take this off," the boy breathed, pawing at my tie, fumbling over buttons. I ripped the tie away, shrugging away vest and collar, and Ciel clawed at exposed skin. “I like your skin… I want to feel it.” His touch on my bare shoulders forced all reason from me. I shifted to the centre of the bed and cradle him under my chest, crouching on knees as he struggled to pull away my trousers. He would have me bare before him, wretched and wanting. “Sebastian, I like to be wanted by you.”

My voice was low in my chest. "Do you even know what you are asking for?" His arms hugged my waist and nails clawed at the small of my back. I buried my nose in his hair, relishing a scent that had me pulling him closer. He moaned from the contact, grinding into my hips.

"Maybe I do know, Sebastian. I am already damned and wretched, and I really don't care anymore." Hands groped at my hard erection, pulling and pleading, tongue and teeth on my neck.

"Hah... If I may be blunt... you are a damn fool."

"I would strike you if I did not believe it to be true. I should, simply for your impudence. Or perhaps I should just show you how much of a fool I really am. Lie on your back." I turned over and rested my head in the pillows, feeling apprehensive. Apprehensive? What reason did I have to feel that way?

This was my master, I thought. This most elementary fact knocked me to my senses. Was I under the misconception that I was entitled to any control? Perhaps I was the fool. I watched in horror as his hot mouth overtook my aching erection and my speculation was confirmed. I was the damned fool, dominated by serpentine tongue.

He bobbed over me, pulsing slickness covered in his spittle, vitriol that would dissolve all my defences. "Young master..." my voice cracked. Again, I was being serviced and this time in the master's own bed, my hands twitching with the need to touch him.

Ciel raised his head to look at me with brazenness. "Do you like this?" Tender nuzzling followed, and he chuckled in that pompous manner. "I rather like this arrangement.”

He would not undo me this time, I resolved. I may find pleasure in this boy, but I would not let him reduce me to a quivering mess.

"How much of me can you take into your mouth?" I whispered. I threaded my fingers through his hair with soft tenderness. "Are you able to conquer all of it?" I held him fast as I lifted my hips, wishing to force more of myself upon him.

He tensed with a gag. It was enough to entice the prideful boy to swallow more. Those lips slipped further down my cock, nose nuzzled into pubis. Hot breath lapped over the head.

"So greedy, young master. Will you forever continue to impress me?" His lips pulled at me, tongue swishing, head dipping with urgency. He was determined not to back down from my challenges, wanted to prove himself, put me in my place, as it were. I tilted my head back on the pillows, sighing in an attempt to relax myself, but this too was foolish. He hummed over my length, relishing in this act.

I felt the tightening within me, his mouth urgent, and lips traveling with slick speed. His fingers cut into my thighs as I felt myself lifting up, and I clutched at tendrils falling over his lidded eyes. Tongue licked as soft as fire under and around, causing the pressure to coil tighter and tighter. He pulled fiercely, desperate to cause the coil to snap.

The sight was overwhelming, his shoulder blades pressed back, rear raised as his head jerked, eyes wet from the effort. My breath was shallow, and I twitched to hold back, but he only looked up with watery eyes, contract blazing. I felt a shuddering in my mind as I heard him command without voice, “ _Come, you wretched demon, come.”_

I seized, releasing with weak, cracking moan, holding the back of Ciel's head with quivering force. He gagged and sputtered, another convulsion wracked me to tear apart the coiled strings. He pushed from me, coughing as I shuddered, my breath rattling.

Control was an illusion, I reasoned.

He looked a mess, face slavered and hair rumpled. It was too precious a sight. I clung to his shoulders and pulled him upon me, and his soft sack grinding into my still-sensitive organ. My lips overtook him, hungry to explore the taste my own wretchedness in his mouth.

"I want it," he whispered over my puckered lips, rocking over me. He was so hard, so ready. I grabbed for the massage oil on the bed side table, slathering my fingers. My slick hand reached under him as he straddled over me. He clutched around my neck as a finger slid through his heated tightness. His knees shook and he gave a strangled cry, but urged me further by pushing against the intrusion. My free arm held him tightly against me, burying my face into the crook of his arm. I smelled his desperation, sweet musk, mixed with my own vileness. I dribbled the oil over his backside, running between his cheeks to meet where my fingers pushed deeper. He cried and shuddered, his hardness pushing against my abdomen. He grabbed the bottle from me, tipping it over my front and the oil pooled between us. He thrust against my oiled belly as fingers filled him. He took his pleasure greedily, despite tense muscles around my slick fingers.

"Relax, young master," I whispered, my hand around his middle to still him. I leaned lower, allowing him to lie over me as I continued to pump into him. His fingers combed through my long hair, and I lapped at his chest. I pushed deep and he jerked against me. "Sebastian--" and again, "I can't..." and again, "No!" he gave a strangled cry as he came undone, a beautiful heap as he moaned into my ear, his orgasm rocking him to pieces that collapsed over me, and I continued to lap at him, filled with such ecstasy. I slowly pulled oiled fingers from him and he whimpered from their absence.

"I wasn't ready,"

"You seemed ready enough." His lip pouted, but he decided to cosy into me.

I pulled him from the bed and walked him to the wash room. The water was cold as I sponged sticky skin. He winced from my cleaning his backside, but gave no complaint. He shivered as he watched me wash myself, and I was quick about it.

He was eager to tuck into bed, and while I bent to gather my effects Ciel bade me, hands outstretched. "Sebastian, stay."

"Oh young master, you have not asked such a thing since you were a child."

"No, not like that. I'm not afraid... I just want you here."

I raised my eyebrows in slight surprise. "In bed with you?"

He pulled back the sheets and slid over as an invitation. I was reluctant, but I complied as his hands reaching around me. "Hold me." He nuzzled against my thigh and my hand stroked his back in something resembling affection. Fire crackled behind the grate and Ciel's steady breath warmed my neck.

I wanted to not lie so stiffly under the covers. The boy relaxed into me, breathing deep, lazily rubbing against my thigh. It was no use to tell him that this was not advisable. I had other obligations awaiting me in the kitchen, but the tired Earl was beyond caring at this point. In the very least, he was no longer stressed, free to doze before another day would alert him of his duties.

The night was still, the manor silent... fire burned low, and in the stillness I heard a voice that did not penetrate the air, _"Sebastian..."_ it was the master's voice that only echoed in own head. It sounded distant and mumbled, tangled in his half-consciousness.

I pulled his dosing form against me, a hand lacing with my own. Streams of thoughts seemed to crackle. _"What is this? How can we..."_ My heart thumped in my chest. _No, oh damn it all no. "... has come to this. So wrong, unbearably wrong... cannot stop, do not want to stop."_ Yes, this was wrong. I did not want this, all my worst anxieties bared before me. _"...falling for you? Never leave me... "_


	14. Chapter 14

It was late in the morning, past eight o' clock, when I finished the master's tea. Scones were rather easy to work up in the morning, and I decided light fare would suffice until elevenses. I felt foul from being so non-active for such an extended period of time. It was normal to be in the kitchen by four of the early hour to prepare meals for the day, by five compiling the list of tasks for the servants, by six preparing the master's clothes, by six-thirty last minute breakfast preparations for the manor, and by seven to knock up the young master.

I was behind schedule on all counts. The servants were up at seven o'clock, having slept in and wondering where I was. Ciel would not let me leave his bedchamber at a decent hour. I thought of this bitterly as I pulled eggs from a boiling pot of water. I normally would not give the servants eggs like this on a weekday, but perhaps this would be enough to keep them quiet and not ask questions over the unanticipated change in routine.

I was placing tea and breakfast on a trolley when Mey-Rin slipped into the kitchen wearing a smug expression that was not befitting her, and acting far too idle for my liking. I would have preferred to see my servants moving with a little more urgency.

"Tea is rather late," she chirped.

I refused to look at her. "Do you not have work to do, maid? Is there a carpet in the left wing parlour that is in need of beating out? There will also be linens to clean."

"The master's, no doubt, even if they were changed just past Monday." She sauntered toward me a little closer than what I was willing to tolerate.

My eyes flashed as I whipped around to glare at her. "You are out of line."

"Am I?" She leaned in and whispered, "You were with the young master last night."

"Have you been spying?" I strained to keep my tone even.

"I went to your room, and you weren't there. You weren't there this morning either."

"So you admit to leaving your quarters last night."

"Briefly, for a trip to the loo." Her tone suggested this might not have been her true reason for being out of bed.

I grabbed her shoulders, using great effort to not shake her. "You were spying again."

She giggled. "The door was shut, so no. But the young master can be heard straight through the corridor, even with the door locked."

I was in no mood to play games, and I was most certainly not in a mood to placate her. "Perhaps I do not keep you busy enough, Mey-Rin, that even after a 'hard day's work' you are alert enough to wander from your quarters. It will be a clear day today. See that you wash the windows outside. All of them."

She sputtered, "That's Finny's job!"

"He is running an errand in town for me today. I have had quite enough of your insolence." Walking past, I pushed the trolley ahead and out the kitchen.

I felt hateful enough to rip the limbs from someone, but restrained myself, since the closest living thing was an uppity maid whom Ciel would be quite angry if he discovered dismembered. Her thin attempts to be clever only succeeded in frustrating me further over the events of the previous night.

I had lain in bed with the young master through the night, with any attempt to squirm away thwarted by a tight arm or a grasping hand. He had awoken at two in the morning for a brief moment, soft caresses along my chest and lips against my shoulder. He did not have to speak, only direct my hand to a pulsing erection, and he bucked into my grip. His scent of his desire overtook me, and I could not stop myself from finishing him off with eager lips. It was pathetic.

After his breathing calmed, I was told to stay until morning. I stayed motionless in the bed for four more hours. He watched me dress as the morning sun peaked through a crack in the curtains.

My presentation was disgraceful and my disregard for normal routine abhorrent. Ciel would not reprimand me for these things, but how was I supposed to keep a household in line if I did not set the standard for impeccable self-discipline? It was no surprise to me why Mey-Rin possessed little inhibition around me that morning. It would not have been an issue if I had been allowed to retire to my own quarters that night, see to my duties as per my routine, and wake the master in normal fashion.

This was not the worst of it. His softness, his tenderness and his level of trust had developed to greater heights. This was beyond the trust we had established those years ago, when I was concerned with his security and comfort and nothing further. No, this was a trust of the heart, and what was I to do with that? The worst of it was, if this were to continue, I feared the effect it would have on me. I shuddered at the thought.

For the better part of the morning, I pondered over what his expectations of me could have been, in light of these new developments. The young earl, on the other hand, seemed eager to start his work for the morning, still fighting with the poor management of the factory of Le Havre. His shouting in French could be heard up to the front foyer.

By early tea he pushed himself from his desk, his head in his hands, not yet defeated but frustration reaching its peak. "The manager, Monsieur Martel, he refuses to listen. Every time he's on the telephone, he makes excuses, and finally said something to the effect of, 'what is a kid who's across the Channel going to do about it?'"

Apparently, Martel was not aware of what happened when Ciel Phantomhive was challenged.

"There is a supervisor at the factory in London, Mr. Elliot Hameldon, bold but loyal to me, awaiting some opportunity to elevate his position." He was talking to himself more than to me. I poured the tea with no comment. "If I should take any course of action, better it be now. My chances of the profit I projected for France this quarter are null. I'll take the expense before Martel decides to take some drastic action. He would be inclined, I just know it." He sipped his tea as he stared unfocused out the window.

"Any way I can be of assistance in this, young master?"

He looked in my direction, as if suddenly remembering I was present. "Ah... Sebastian, expect Mr. Hameldon tomorrow for luncheon. I still need to call the manager in London, set this appointment so this supervisor and I can discuss a course of action for the Le Havre factory. It's a little short notice, but I have the feeling he will jump at the opportunity."

Impressed was I by Ciel's ability to handle this situation aggressively and yet with calm authority. Upon leaving the office I shook my head, feeling silly for once again finding something fond about my master. After Ciel called the London factory to make the arrangements and cleaned his desk, he took the time to write back to his aunt, hoping that a Friday post would arrive well before he would next week.

The next day Mr. Hameldon arrived at the manor for his luncheon. He was a rather young gentleman, a little brutish in the face, with a gruff yet friendly smile. His physique suggested a hard worker, someone who found such activity a noble pursuit unto itself. He was somewhat of a learned man, his family _nouveau riche_ and able to send their eldest to boarding school. His discerning eye suggested acute perception and sensibility.

Welcoming him at the front entrance, I escorted him to the sunroom where luncheon would be served. The sun was just warm enough to be welcoming, even if the air was still a little brisk. Spring was beginning to burst from every twig and branch, and surely in two weeks’ time the gardens would be an explosion of colour.

The young Earl wore his most mature disposition, forgoing his usual foppish attire for the more clean-cut and minimalist London fashion many business men were opting for. He even decided full trousers were the better option. Ciel chose to pose as the precocious young man who acted twice his age, and yet at the drop of a hat he could express all the innocence and whimsy of a young child, whichever would better serve him for the occasion.

He sat across from Mr. Hameldon at the spindly table, more engrossed in the matter at hand, than the lunch I had prepared for the two. The arrangement might have been a little too ornate for a business meeting, but the London supervisor seemed enchanted by delicate china, crisp cucumber sandwiches, and sweet puddings presented in lavish serving dishes. A delicate Indian oolong accompanied such light fare.

The young Phantomhive explained his situation, how he wanted to send Mr. Hameldon across the channel with a formal notice that he would be taking over management of the factory for the short term. Mr. Martel would be placed on suspension until further notice. I stood silently as Ciel commanded the meeting with expert authority.

"I sincerely apologise that I must ask this of you, what with the holiday being upon us, but I can no longer tolerate the mismanagement of my Le Havre factory, seeing as how it is one of my largest port factories, other than London. But, that is why I have chosen you to sort this out." He set his elbow on the table, leaning forward with his chin propped under his knuckles, his eye piercing. "Mr. Reynolds, your boss, has had only fantastic things to say of you and sees a bright future for you in this corporation. Here is an opportunity to prove this to me."

Any other person sitting in Mr. Hameldon's position would bow with humility, be beside himself with such an offer. Instead, his gestures indicated he was receptive to what the Earl was telling him, but gave no supplication. "I am grateful to your offer, Earl Phantomhive. Please tell me, should Mr. Martel give me any trouble...?"

"I am in the process of contacting local authorities. They will be available, should you need a police escort." Mr. Hameldon's eyebrows rose slightly, giving away his reserved surprise. The boy caught this gesture and his lip curled. "It seems you are not entirely aware of how far-reaching my influence is, Mr. Hameldon. Le Havre has only benefitted from my presence there, and to solidify my reputation in the area, their police force has received considerable charity from me." He raised his tea cup to his lips and before continuing and cut a sharp look at the man across the table. "I always get what I want."

"I have no doubt of that, Earl."

Noticing the master's cup was barely full, I approached and inquired, "May I refresh your tea, my lord?"

"Yes, it has gone cold." His eye softened as he looked at me, while I poured his tea. His fingers grazed my own as I handed him his cup and saucer. "Thank you, Sebastian." Any trace of sharpness in the boy's countenance was lost in an instant.

As I offered more tea to Mr. Hameldon, I noticed that miniscule exchange was not lost on him either. He leaned back in amusement, one leg crossed over the other. Ciel was too absorbed with fresh tea to notice.

I pardoned myself, making the excuse that there was another matter that needed my attention. Ciel craned his neck to watch me leave. I pushed my trolley back to the kitchen, cleaned its contents with a dizzying speed, and crept back to where the two were lunching.

I had left the door ajar to the sunroom, which sat off the back of the manor. Its adjacent wall was panelled and solid, so I could not be seen strolling back, unless I was to make my presence known at the threshold.

Mr. Hameldon cajoled, "I get the acute impression that you and your butler are... close."

"Sebastian has gone to great lengths to ensure my security. I am grateful for it."

"And what has he received in return, Earl Phantomhive?"

There was a strained pause. "What are you suggesting, Mr. Hameldon?"

"I simply find it curious, to see such familiarity between master and servant."

The china clinked from Ciel setting down his tea cup. "You mistake loyalty for familiarity."

"Two conditions which are not so different. Let's not get caught on semantics."

"Then speak plainly." My master's voice snapped with irritation.

"What are you hiding, Lord Phantomhive?"

The young master chuckled. "Do you honestly believe you are in a position to inquire of my private life?" He slapped the table and shouted, "I have offered you a generous opportunity, one I would not give lightly, much less to one as common as yourself. I chose you because I trust the recommendation of your employer, who has also shown me loyalty. Do not let your perverse curiosity squash any chance you might have to move above your station. Am I speaking plainly enough for you?"

Mr. Hameldon must have been amused by this threat, for he laughed outright. "My young lord, you are so quick to find threat! Do you believe I am out to slander you?”

"You wouldn't be the first, but know that I have disposed of some for committing far less."

"I have no doubt." Mr. Hameldon must have paused for another sip of tea. "I like you, Earl Phantomhive."

"I'll return that sentiment when I see results in Le Havre. I have passage across the Channel arranged for Monday morning." There came the shuffling of papers. Ciel seemed eager to end this meeting. "I assume your paperwork is in order?"

"Yes sir."

"Here are detailed analyses of production from the past three months. I doubt they're accurate, but I need you to investigate their validity regardless. I want to see how much money I've lost over this fiasco. With this is a personal letter from me, should Mr. Martel doubt your claim. See, it has my seal. Again, you have resources available to you should things go awry." More shuffling, as Mr. Hameldon flipped through the folder. "I expect a full report after I return from holiday."

"Very well, my lord. Might I ask, where are you going for holiday?"

"The Midford manor." The shortness of his response indicated he did not want to speak of it. If Mr. Hameldon had picked up on this, he was going to ignore the hint.

"Ah, your fiancée and her family. The Marchioness is your aunt, am I right?"

"Mr. Hameldon, this meeting is over." Ciel rose from his chair. "Ring me when you arrive in France, and you better be expedient with that report."

* * *

Ciel decided after lunch he had enough work for the day. He spent his afternoon strolling across the grounds, making note that the hybrid tea rose bushes were budding. He would be back from holiday by the time they were in bloom. After dinner, he excused himself to his smoking room with a book from the library. I assumed he wanted the time for himself, but it was well into the evening when he called for me.

He set his book down on the table when I entered, a tattered and dog eared copy of _Carmilla_. He did not appear uneasy, but the way he picked at a thread on the arm of his chair told me that he had much on his mind.

"I think I am in need of some company, Sebastian." He gestured to the chair across from him.

"I am flattered that I should be the one you would call to keep you company." There was little sense in rejecting a proffered seat.

"Be flattered all you like." He took up the pipe sitting on the tray, added a pinch of tobacco from a small jar, and lit the bowl with a flourish. He flicked the smoking matchstick in the ash pan. "I have a lot on my mind."

"I gathered that."

"Am I always so easy to read, Sebastian?"

"No more than anyone else, I suppose. You know that no one else knows you as well as me, so reading you is no difficult task. You are considering Mr. Hameldon from earlier today, are you?" Ciel pulled at his pipe. _He will choke himself if he kept at it,_ I thought.

The boy lowered his voice as he murmured, "He seemed to know. Was it so obvious to see?"

I noticed Ciel's fond look at me during lunch, brief as it may have been. It was obvious to me that Mr. Hameldon had picked up on it as well, his raised eyebrows having gone unnoticed by my master. Elliot Hameldon gave the air of a man who had acute attention to detail, who knew how to read people with stunning precision, and also possessed the cunning to use it to his advantage, if he so chose. On the other hand, he did not come off as one who was manipulative, but instead was aware of the maliciousness of others. People's cruelty was not something lost on him.

"But what does _he_ know? He can make all the presumptions he likes, the fool." Ciel gazed at a spot on the floor, more concerned for his own thoughts than carrying a conversation. "He claims that you and I are 'close,' but that can mean a number of different things. Surely he does not think... that would be ridiculous..."

"Might I inquire, what is on your mind, young master?"

He sat down his pipe, gathered his hands in his lap and pursed his lips in uncertainty. "Perhaps I am overacting, but I couldn't help but think... this is so silly. Mr. Hameldon could not keep his eyes off of me. I noticed how he watched me. I've seen you watch me that way, staring me down like an object of prey. I understand it coming from you – I've grown used to it coming from you. But I don't think I've ever seen that same look come from another man. He's not evil, he's not a devil like you – He's just a normal man. But... that look, he... desires me. And it just has my mind reeling, Sebastian. Men do not look at each other in that manner."

That last comment had my attention. "And what manner is that, young master? Sounds to me you are talking about a look of longing. Is it so far-fetched that men cannot desire each other?"

He stared at me, deadpan. "I used to believe that it was not possible, but I suppose it is." He picked up his pipe once more. His hands shook, and he had difficulty with his match. "It's rather irregular, don't you think? For men to want to be affectionate towards one another like a wife and husband should be. Am I irregular, Sebastian?"

"What sort of question is that?" I gripped the arms of my chair. "On what basis would you form this judgment?"

"Must I explain it? Honestly, I told you my thoughts about Lizzie, oh, you know I'm well over it, but there are moments when I still feel guilt over my deception to her. And Mr. Hameldon, he had this look like he just... pardon if I sound vulgar, he looked as though he would devour me alive if given the chance. Please understand, I really have no interest in the man, other than wanting him to carry out my instructions... but I can't say I was appalled by his glances. I was... amused by them. And think of all that... you and me..." He did not want to give the details, a furious blush telling enough.

"Master... despite what propriety would have you believe..." I wanted to take his hands in mine, but I stayed myself. "This is not an irregularity."

He glanced at me from the side. He whispered, "It's not the late rendezvous, the pleasure. It's not the lust, Sebastian. I feel this deep aberration within me, and I wish I could quell it, wish I did not feel this..." He stood up, pulling a bottle of bourbon off the mantel. The liquor splashed into the glass and half full, the young master gulped deeply from it.

I did not like where this conversation was heading. I too, felt the apprehension, a tight clutching in my chest, a voice in my mind screaming, _do not admit it, young master! Do not speak this, for I fear it to be my own undoing._ Was this his intention all along?

I growled, "It is sex, young master. You find me attractive, and while we do share a bond, it is the strength of our contract you feel. Do not mistake this as anything else."

His glass trembled in his hand. "You're wrong, Sebastian. There is more here." He looked down at me with a watery eye, as he leaned against the mantel. "What has come over me?"

What did he expect from me? Did he expect me to embrace him, collect him to me and say that this, what this was, was mutual? Was he expecting me to return such affection? What affection was there to be had?

Such an anger welled up within me as such a reminder chanted in my head, that I could not lie to this boy, because if I could, this situation would have been so much easier to deal with. Keeping secrets was one thing, but the pleading expression on his face told me he was expecting some kind of reply, some certainty in this matter.

"Do you want to know what has come over you?" My voice remained even. "You are a fool."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"How dare you speak to me like that?" Ciel cried.

"How dare you have the indecency to develop feelings for a servant?" I hissed. I could not help as my voice rose, livid as I was. "It is one thing to beckon me to your chamber because you need some kind of relief. I can even accept if you find me attractive, if that adds to your pleasure. I can accept that that is who the young master _is_ , a young man with very particular needs. But what do you expect to come of these _feelings_?"

His bottom lip trembled, and he tried to hide it as he put the glass to his mouth once more. He swallowed. As he exhaled I smelled the alcohol on his breath. "I don't know. I don't know what to think anymore."

"All right, I will tell you what to think." I could not give a damn how much it hurt the young master to hear it. "I have been kind and accommodating for these past years, but have you mistaken my care as real affection? Do you forget what role I play in this contract?"

"Sebastian, I—"

"Do you expect you can change the terms of this contract? Do you expect your affections for me would change anything at all?"

"What are you saying?"

My fury could not be contained any longer. "What am I, young master?? Have you become so familiar with me that you have forgotten what I am? Have you forgotten my reason for being by your side, what I am charged to do, and what I am to receive in exchange for the service I have given you?"

Ciel looked as though he wanted to curl into his chair, but he remained standing stiff and motionless. "I have not," he whispered. In silence, he poured himself more bourbon, as if this drink gave him the courage to speak. "It is this very fact that has me... unable to stand myself."

I was not expecting that last statement. I leaned back in my chair, trying to calm myself. He sounded as if the words choked as they came up from his throat. “It does me no good to deny the obvious, we know this. Sebastian, I... how could I have helped this... the only one who knows me, who understands me, who has given more of themselves than anyone else I know... how can I not...?" He coughed as he took a deep swig of the bourbon. "And all the while, I hate myself for this... for falling for a creature as terrific and detestable as you."

There was no more to be said. I leapt from my chair, left the room without permission, not caring of the rudeness or insolence of it. Ciel did not stop me.

I ran, ran from the manor, to the trees, over the hills. The forest stilled to silence as I rushed through bush and bramble, as though all living creatures within the wood sensed my fury and fled from it. I retreated so I could return to some shattered, incomplete state, if only for a time, so to remember my own sorrowful nature. There was comfort in such Descent, certainty in the knowledge that I was hollow and had been cast aside.

I eventually returned to the manor, in the early hours of the morning, resolute in a new course of action. 

* * *

Over the weekend Mey-Rin's tincture was ready, herbs having had ample time to steep in alcohol. It was diluted and I stood and watched Mey-Rin gulp down the awful draught, every last drop.

That evening, she retched and wailed in the servant's toilet. I told the others to think nothing of it and to get back to work. I gave the maid that Sunday off.

Taking care of that business gave me a small feeling of accomplishment.


	15. Chapter 15

"The young master appears to be out of sorts," Tanaka noted as the coach was loaded Thursday morning, to set out for Easter holiday at the Midfords. Finnian was charged with securing the luggage to the imperial overhead of the coach and harnessing the horses. Tanaka sipped his last cup of tea before embarking. He stood with a demeanour that suggested easiness, but within that wrinkled face was buried a look of concern.

"Oh? And what has given you that impression?" I asked with calm indifference.

Tanaka’s weary eyes possessed that faraway look of deep contemplation. "He has always been a withdrawn young man, but his mood has been so erratic these past weeks."

Since my flight from the manor, Ciel had been distant and aloof. He would not look me in the eye, nor call on me. He busied himself with work, and would even go so far as to refuse meals. When I gave the slightest insistence that he needed to eat something, he would simply order me away, in that calm, low voice. I would not press him, but rather allow him to stew in his own self-imposed sadness.

"A lot weighs on the young master's mind. I do what I can to ease his burdens."

"I have no doubt you do, and I sincerely hope that none of us would be a source of strife for the young master."

This comment caused me to whip back to look at Tanaka. He occupied himself with his tea and seemed he was finished speaking. I had always admired Tanaka for having keen perception, and it was for this reason he remained at the Phantomhive estate. His knowledge of the family through the generations, all their secrets, could have been a powerful weapon, if it were not for the fact that Tanaka was a humble man who lived for servitude.

I considered why the Midfords insisted that Tanaka should accompany us for the holiday, and my only conclusion was that they wanted to glean some insight into the Earl’s assets, knowledge Tanaka was very privy to… but one would never know that just looking at the old man. They may have used the explanation that they missed a family friend who was such a close confidant of the boy’s predecessor, but it did not explain why they never called for him in the past.

With luggage stowed, the Earl and Tanaka settled in the carriage, ready for the travel, while I sat at the front perch and waved back to the servants who saw us out the gates. The travel to the Midford manor would be a leisurely one, for the sky was clear and the sun warm. Even the horses appreciated the work of driving the coach after being cooped in a stable for most of winter.

Road trips such as this were appropriate occasions for reflection and sorting one’s thoughts. It was the only thing for sitting on the box of a brougham with no other company but the pair of beasts in front of me. I recalled my flight from the manor, how it had wounded my young master. When I had returned in the early hours of the morning, I found he had not even bothered to dress in his bed clothes. He sprawled over his bed, smelling of bourbon. In the very least he had the sense to remove his shoes before falling into unconsciousness. I watched him for a time before the sun rose. He mumbled in his sleep in that way so familiar to me, but I did not care to wake him from a troubled sleep.

My initial reaction to his feeling was that it was an assault against me. I dismissed this notion, because his feelings did not come from a place of wrath. Instead they radiated with gentleness, and I was certain that accepting his feelings would lead to my own destruction, the destruction of our contract. I could not tolerate such a prospect, after all the effort I had placed in Ciel.

He was my broken project, my magnificent masterpiece, with I the master sculptor, and his desecrated soul my magnum opus. The intrusion of such light-hearted emotion could potentially sully the landscape of his condition. Things such as hope of happiness have the potential to break through the darkness of the heart. I resolved that this illumination would not come to pass. In fact, denying my master of this dim salvation could only benefit me. Considering the effect it would have, if he was unrequited in his affections, I reasoned that the despair could only lead to a much more depraved condition, a soul filled with bitterness.

I would not force this reality on him with cruelty or malice. This was a matter of self-preservation, as well as priority in my investment, as it were. I would continue to be patient, keeping a close eye on the boy’s condition to guarantee that every action I took would be a further blight on him. As far as his own depressed state, he would pull himself out of it eventually. He found such melancholy to be irritating, and preferred to be in a state of mind where he had the energy to project his anger for the world outward instead of turning it inward.

While we were slightly north and west of London, we merely had to travel two hours south to arrive at the Midford estate. A well paved road inclined slightly and from the quarter lights on the side of the coach Ciel spotted the French-style gardens and luxurious fountains that led to the manor at the top of the hill, ascending in strict Neo-Classical glory.

We pulled into the drive in the front to be greeted at the hexa-style portico, its Ionic columns framing a central entrance and grand windows. The balustrade ran around the roof of the building, supported by a decorative cornice. Quoins accented the corners of the structure, giving the mansion a sense of stern structure. For all the order and symmetry, there was a gleaming opulence to the architecture, and such qualities exemplified the essence of what it meant to be Midford.

Upon our arrival, I gave instruction for the luggage and a stable boy was eager to tend to the coach and horses. I was not accustomed to following the master around with nothing to do, but the way he tugged at my sleeve, such a brief gesture, as we clicked across the chequered foyer, suggested he wanted me near.

Francis met him in the parlour. Light poured into the room from the windows across from the doorway. She stood at his arrival, the tightest of smiles on her face. "How was your trip, nephew?"

Ciel sat straight and proper on his couch, wishing to appeal to the Marchioness's preference for discipline. "It was well, thank you for your hospitality, Aunt Francis."

I stood in the corner with head bowed. The Marchioness said nothing on the matter, but glared sideways at me, considering that I had little reason to be in the room. She had no justification to dismiss a servant that was not hers, and while she always found it strange, she was convinced of a friendship between me and the young master.

A footman entered the room with refreshment. On the outset his attire appeared impeccable, until I noticed he had recently scuffed his shoe in a hurry to serve. How careless.

After moments of tea sipping and talk of the weather, the boy asked, "My dear Francis, pardon me if I sound too forward, but I would have expected Elizabeth to join us."

"She is indisposed at the moment. She will join us for dinner." Her demeanour was terse. The Marchioness sighed and set down her tea cup. Straightening herself, she changed the subject. "I am most delighted that you will have an extended holiday with us, Ciel. It is so rare that you visit us anymore."

"The pleasure is mine, Aunt Francis. I have been in need of a holiday from work. And I admit; I cannot be opposed to any request from Elizabeth."

The boy's aunt smiled at this comment. "I have something of a surprise for you, my dear nephew." The footman refilled her tea without a word and with no comment she accepted the cup. I watched this exchange with some curiosity. Her level of nobility was such that she would not even look her domestic workers in the eye. "Alexis and I have planned something of a small dinner party for tomorrow night, oh, just a modest gathering of close associates and the like. We wanted to take full advantage of your visit with us."

Ciel's eye widened momentarily, but he kept his surprise in check, probably not wanting to alert his aunt of just how much he despised these sorts of occasions. It was one thing to host a party and have months to prepare for it; it was quite another to attend with little warning. He summoned his warmest smile. "I am truly flattered, ma'am."

She must have noticed the slight hesitancy in his statement, for she continued, "I hope you are not unsettled by this, Ciel."

"Not at all!" His reassurance seemed a little too quick to respond.

"There are a few associates we would like you to meet. You would only benefit from a chance to network, and I think it's safe to say that they would like acquaintance with you."

Ciel chose his words carefully. "Aunt, I cannot imagine who would have interest in meeting me."

Her laugh was precise and crisp. "The expansion of your business over the past year has been the talk of London, Ciel! Honestly, your products have been seen in every gift shop and toy store. Common folk and the aristocracy alike cannot get enough of your brand."

"I know what the people like."

"Precisely. I daresay I know a few who would be interested in doing business with you."

When Ciel set down his tea cup, he raised his hand to stop the footman from refilling his cup, not breaking his gaze with the Marchioness. "Please correct me if I am being presumptuous, ma'am, but it sounds as though someone has asked you to make their acquaintance with me."

She was terse. "That is partially true, Ciel, but keep in mind that my primary motivation is my nephew's success." She sipped her tea. "Even though my late brother may have started the business, I am amazed with how it is you that has brought Funtom Company to international acclaim. Your shrewd business savvy may just incite jealousy among other entrepreneurs."

"To that I have no doubt. On that note, I do hope you are not inviting these jealous types to the party."

"Ciel, you know I do not invite _nouveau riche_ to my dinner parties. For all the money they have accumulated, the wealth fails to buy them proper etiquette."

* * *

I spent the evening in the servant's hall during their dinner at a complete loss of what to do with myself. There was no work to be had at Midford manor, and I realised just how routine it was to constantly have to wait on my master. Not having to depend on that regularity left me uneasy. The staff, which in fleeting moments had occasion to sit, seemed rather interested in me. Many of the tenured staff knew of Tanaka personally, having met him when the predecessor of the Phantomhive name had come to visit his sister. They had shared their stories with the maids of a Phantomhive butler that knew how to throw a party. I had never really thought of Tanaka as being so spry, but I dreaded the idea of the wait staff having similar expectations of me.

It was shortly after dinner that Ciel politely excused himself from the table. Alexis invited him to the smoking room for digestif. Prior to that, Ciel made a trip to the washroom to freshen himself after a rather rich meal of quail. His request for me rang in my ears, cacophonous after a week of silence.

With haste, I appeared in his personal wash room, a dark blight on an otherwise gleaming interior. "You have need of me, young master?" He regarded my appearance with weariness.

"There's something my aunt and uncle are hiding from me." His arms folded, he leaned against the porcelain sink. The gas lamps over the mirror shone on his pale face and I noted the dark circle under his eye. "Are there any strange rumours among the household staff?"

"I have had little occasion to speak with them. Most have been too preoccupied with their own duties, young master." This was partially true, for when one did have a moment to talk, they were more interested in me, rather than speaking of the goings on of their employer’s estate.

Ciel rubbed his chin in contemplation. "The Midfords are planning something, and it's not just a dinner party. And Elizabeth is acting very strange."

"How so, my lord?"

He stared down at the floor, as if trying to divine some undetectable piece of information from the chequered tiles. "I do not think I have ever seen her more reserved. I think the only time she said anything of length to me was when she greeted me in the dining room and asked me about my trip. Then when Marquis Alexis and I excused ourselves from the table, she bid me a good night."

"And she kept silent for most of the meal?"

"Yes, she only raised her head to speak when there was a question directed to her."

"And what questions were asked of her, young master?"

He rubbed his chin. "It was simple things really. Her mother asking about her lessons, asked her to recite something from her reading, all really boring, honestly."

I did not find this information to be dull in the slightest. "And can you recall what she was wearing?"

Ciel lifted his head. "You know, I thought that was rather strange too. She seemed a little too formal, as if she would have to entertain guests."

"You are the guest in this house, young master."

He waved his hand as if to dismiss the notion. "Oh come off it, I am family." Then he reconsidered my comment. "Although, Aunt Francis has been especially accommodating. And there's this party tomorrow..." For the first time in a week, he stared me in the eye. "There's something going on here, Sebastian. Find out what you can. Be subtle about it. Do not give anyone reason to suspect you of snooping."

I bowed low. "Yes, I shall be as a shadow, my lord." I was so grateful to have something to do, grateful for this normalcy of being given a task.

"You will report your findings to me when I retire for the evening," he added. "That is all." He was depending on me for something once more, and I realised just how much it ached to not have that. I cursed at my own weakness, how I so wanted him to have need of me, and yet when he wanted me I could only recoil.

A smoking jacket hung by the door. "Might I assist you with your coat?" I inquired as I saw him flip the buttons of his evening attire.

In a clipped tone, he replied. "I have grown accustomed to helping myself, Sebastian. Do as I have told you. That is all." His last statement felt forced.

It seemed logical to peek into Elizabeth's quarters first, and I found her in her lavish bedroom, sitting at a white vanity, staring into the mirror as Paula, her maid, brushed her long golden locks. I peered through the cracked doorway, a blank, forlorn expression set on the young woman's face, and an uncomfortable silence hung between the two. With gas lamps turned low, they would not see that I had cracked the door, and most certainly could not see me lurking in the dark hall.

Paula said in her usual cheerful voice, "You looked positively radiant this evening, my lady."

Elizabeth sighed, looking away from herself in the mirror. "Ciel did not give me any compliment. He was too preoccupied with talking with Edward."

"Well, they had not seen each other in quite some time. Also, I hear talk that he is interested in the Earl's philanthropic efforts."

Elizabeth said in a low voice, "Do not repeat this Paula, but I'll have you know that it was my idea that Ciel have a ball at the beginning of the season, and it was my idea that he should turn it into a charity event. I suggested it during Valentine's."

"Oh my lady!" Paula gave her mistress a warm hug around the shoulders. "Please do not begrudge the Earl!"

"Oh Paula, I do not, you know I don't. You know I love Ciel very much.... it's just... Some acknowledgment would be nice. Even just a mention of me, even in passing. It would have made me so happy if he had told Edward that it was my idea, even if I am not in a position to be hostess." Elizabeth fought back frustrated tears.

"But Lady Elizabeth, one day you will. Think of it!" Paula raised her arms with dramatic flair. "One day you'll be the Countess Elizabeth Phantomhive! There will be a day when you are the one who can receive all the credit for holding these sorts of functions! And to think, all of London's posh society will be clambering over themselves for an invitation to one of your events." Elizabeth smiled up at her maid. Paula seemed to have an effortless way to cheering up her mistress. "And I'll have you know, the staff have overheard your parents speak of the Earl. He is all the Marquis talks about. I do not know much about these sorts of things, but your father is privy to the Phantomhive's investments and his ‘equity,’ whatever that means. In short, his estate is wealthier than your family's at the moment."

"Paula you shouldn't engage in rumours like that!"

"I'm sorry my Lady, don't misunderstand me! I can't help what I overhear! Please don't think I'm speaking untruths!"

The young lady sighed. "No, Paula, out of everyone I know, you're probably the most truthful with me. Do you think that is why my parents have decided to go ahead with... the plans?"

At this point my eyes widened.

"I suppose they think it's a wise decision."

"Yes... since there really is so little inheritance for me."

"My Lady, you'll be marrying into more wealth than your family has."

"It won't even matter if I'm marrying below my station. And it is Ciel..."

"He is making a reputation for himself; you can't deny that, my Lady. You have such a bright future ahead of you. I only hope that you can take me with you to be a small part of it." Paula situated Elizabeth's hair down her back and squeezed the young woman's shoulders.

The two women gazed teary-eyed at each other in the looking glass. An unspoken happiness was exchanged between them, a silent solace that understood that those patches of good fortune had to be plucked quickly when their lives were always steered by someone else's influence. I turned from the scene, having no taste for such sentiment, and decided that I had heard quite enough.

Ciel had no idea that the Midfords were planning the marriage, and very soon. If he had been told during dinner time, it would have been the first thing to come from his mouth during our discussion after dinner.

I slipped down the stairs to the main floor, past the drawing rooms to the smoking room towards the back of the manor. I kept my ear close to the door, for I knew that in such a small room they would surely notice me peaking if I opened the door. There was no staff in the hall, for most, save for a few personal servants, were in the servant's hall taking a late supper and a possible night cap.

It was not difficult to distinguish the Marquis's booming voice. "Ciel, I know that Francis is not going to come right out and say it, but she is very proud of you."

"Oh please sir, I am not accustomed to all this flattery," the master replied with modesty.

"It's hardly flattery, my boy. Just look at what you have accomplished, and at the age of fifteen! It is astounding, and there are gentlemen in your station twice your age that do not have claim to the success that you have made for yourself." I heard the sound of more spirits being dispensed. "You have every right to celebrate your hard work, nephew."

"Thank you, uncle." There was a pause, Ciel no doubt accepting the Marquis's offering most graciously. "It is all I can do, for my name, my birth right."

"Spoken like a true nobleman." Glasses clinked. "But truthfully, I have had enough talk of business for one day. I make it a point to not discuss or engage in financial matters after a certain hour."

"Perhaps that is something I need to consider myself, uncle."

Marquis Midford chuckled. "And now you would take advice from me? Who is doing the flattering now, boy? No, I have other matters to discuss, something more important than business."

Even with a door between us I sensed his nervousness, a feeling of not knowing what was to come but a certainty that he was not going to like it. The boy was putting on airs again, and was doing a rather convincing job of it. The Marquis was none the wiser.

Alexis's tone grew gruff and serious. "It is my daughter. As you know, she is sixteen now, a marriageable age." There was a calculated pause. "Despite your betrothal since birth, we have had others, in poor taste I might add, make offers for her hand."

"...Is that so? Does Lizzie... I mean, Lady Elizabeth know of this?" Ciel's voice sounded rather thin.

“No need to be formal, Ciel. And no, she doesn't. The very idea, the prospect of her being married to anyone but you, however slim that may be, it would cause her too much distress. You know how sensitive she is."

"Yes, sir, I am aware."

"And I will have you know, that while we, her parents, strive to keep much from her, she is very open with us, as an honest young woman should be." Alexis took a sip from his glass. "She told us the events of her last visit."

Ciel replied in haste, "Sir, please forgive my shameful advances, I knew not—"

"My boy, please sit. I'm not here to chastise you. Although your aunt was not too happy about it, between you and me, it's water under the bridge. You are old enough to know what you want… and not quite old enough to control your passions." He refilled glasses. "Let me be honest with you, Ciel. In my eyes, you are a grown man. You comport yourself as a gentleman. Even my own son did not possess such maturity at your age. But I can excuse your err in judgment, for it was minor, and you have gone to great lengths to atone for it.

"I can see the devotion you have for my daughter, and the unwavering determination to protect her, to keep her safe and happy. In the end, that is all a father wants for his daughter. I know you will provide that and a lot more. So I propose that— Ciel, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, uncle, I-I'm fine, just dreadfully tired." The young master’s glass clattered as he set it on a table. "Please, please continue."

"Well, I think you already know what I am going to say."

A long, uncomfortable silence of expectancy was followed by Ciel taking a deep breath. "This... this is rather sudden."

"Oh, I beg to differ, you have only had, what... fifteen years to consider this?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, you misunderstand me, it's just that I was considering that you would not wish to go forward with... the marriage... until..."

"I have given my reasoning, Ciel. It's as good a time as any, and I think the sooner the better."

His heart hammered in his chest. Any more strain and his nerves would get the better of him. In the silence he picked up his glass and emptied it in one gulp. The stillness was punctuated by the glass clapping against the wood table.

"Uncle, I could not ask for a greater honour."

There was much laughter as Alexis filled the glasses again, and he toasted to his daughter and to the Earl who was already as close as a son.


	16. Chapter 16

According to my young master, the dinner party was nothing short of abysmal. Despite the Marchioness Midford's ability to keep appearances and remain a perfect hostess, Ciel would always and forever be considered a difficult guest who lacked the ability to be pleasant company in these types of social situations.

Striding to his room, he kept angry heels abated, so as not to announce his fury to the women having coffee in the parlour. I waited for him in his guest quarters for the off-chance he would require something. As he shut the door with a weak click, he gave a groaning sigh, as if to expend the pleasant disposition that was such a chore to display. He glanced into my corner where I stood in shadow. My constant presence was a tired expectation, and I wondered if he began to resent me for it.

He said nothing as he reclined on the couch. Heeled shoes were kicked off his feet and laid on the carpet with carelessness. To further rebel against the strain of maintaining airs, he tossed a leg over the arm of the stiff couch and ripped the cravat from his neck before flinging it by his shoes. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, a blind stare at the shadowed ceiling. With each breath he sank further into his rude posture, legs widening all the while and I wondered if he was doing this to bait me.

"Sebastian, more wine." He held out a cupped hand with added insistence.

I had been serving dinner that evening at the Marchioness's reluctant request. She would never admit it outright, but a discussion with Tanaka had confirmed one of my suspicions. The Midfords were short-staffed. They had enough maids to maintain the opulence of the house and enough grounds men to keep the gardens pruned, but they did not have the house funds to keep so many footmen employed on their estate. Their reduction of house staff left them with two footmen, not including their butler, and that count was insufficient for entertaining a party of twelve for the evening. Tanaka was more than happy to give his assistance for the occasion, and she accepted my help as well, so long as I tied back my hair, to which she commented, "It is most disgraceful my nephew tolerates your haggard appearance."

I pondered that perhaps “haggard” would not be a word the young master would use to describe me.

The young master was told that there would be no discussion of "the plans" over dinner that evening, much to his relief. They thought it best to reserve this news for Ciel’s occasion, the ball, rather than a quiet dinner. Frances did not think this was appropriate dinner conversation anyway. “Excitement and digestion do not pair well.” The ease the young master was placed under was wrenched from him when he discovered who he would be dining with: the Roycestons (whom he never met) and the Harcourts.

The Earl Royceston was known for his civil service in lawful trade, and the young master had something to gain from being in the man’s good graces. The whole of the family appeared good-natured, and judging from the girth of them all, had an appreciation for fine dining. If the Roycestons were rotund and jovial, the Harcourts contrasted in the worst ways. The Marquis Harcourt was hard-edged, every angle of his face sculpted to give him the appearance of a man who looked at the world in perpetual condemnation. Looking at the Marchioness Harcourt, it was apparent where Joanne, her youngest son and one of Ciel’s former classmates, received his looks. Unfortunately, years of bitterness and discontent erased whatever softness she may had possessed in her youth.

Of course the Marchioness Midford would allow the Harcourts to bring their son with them, for the Roycestons were bringing their daughter Isabel. It was no secret that the Royceston's middle daughter Isabel had garnered the reputation of "odd bird" among the social elite. She was broaching the age of twenty and no suitor had yet given proposal. Their eldest had been married for a number of years and their youngest was already betrothed. It was believed the Roycestons were desperate to hand over Isabel to anyone who would have her, and the Harcourts were equally desperate to be rid of Joanne, who showed little interest in anyone at all. It was remarkable what one hears among gossipy maids in the halls of the Midford estate.

As we servers directed the guests to their seats, Joanne nearly gasped when he finally recognised me, to which I placed a hand on his elbow so he would not trip into his chair. Ciel sat opposite and smirked as he signalled a hush across the arrangements of daffodils and tulips running the table. Tanaka, always privy to it all without someone having to tell him, gave the slightest nod of amusement and then made rounds with a cheerful sauvignon.

Ciel had a fortunate seat at the table, where he sat between his two cousins and furthest from the Harcourts who would only wish to inquire Phantomhive's short time at Weston. As a result, the Marquis Harcourt was sat at the end opposite Marquis Midford, with his wife to the right. In a most unfortunate seating arrangement, the Marchioness Harcourt had to endure Edward's dinner guest, a woman Marchioness Midford was meeting for the first time that evening.

It was a scene to behold that morning when Edward announced after breakfast that he was making the trip to London to "fetch his lady friend" for the dinner that evening.

His mother replied, "Had she no means to leave London for holiday?"

"Mother, were you under the impression she is a colleague?”

Her tea cup trembled in her hand while her voice remained levelled. "I am certain that I raised a gentleman, so the only conclusion to be made is that she is a well-bred young lady."

"If by 'well-bred' you mean she is from an estate outside London, then I regret you are mistaken, Mother." He rose from the table and I heard the distinct chittering of maids in the other room. Ciel remained silent, intent on his paper while his Aunt Francis left the room to take her frustrations on a carpet hanging outside, which was in need of a good beating.

Edward brought home a young woman by the name of Jacquelyn Gardener, who had a sweet voice but held a certain brazenness that my young master found charming. She wore a simple yet elegant dress made of fine chiffon that she could not have afforded herself, for one can barely make a living acting in a West End theatre. Short sleeves pillowed over her shoulders, and a high sash flattered an hourglass figure that was not the product of corsetry. Layers of delicate material shifted and flowed with each graceful movement. Despite her humble origins, Edward was entranced by her vivid character. She gazed at her surroundings with such wonder, and her laugh was wide and genuine. Jacquelyn made great efforts to show the table etiquette she had learned. For her, the dinner party (she made the mistake of admitting it was her first) was no different than any performance. The dress Edward had bought for her was no different than theatre costume. Since this was such a novel occasion for her, she was probably the only woman at the table who could say she enjoyed herself that evening.

Isabel really tried her best to engage in conversation, but much of the intellectual topics spurred by Earl Phantomhive and the Earl Royceston were beyond her. Ms. Gardener giggled when one of Isabel's croquettes fell on the floor, and Joanne tried not to make eye contact, even if he was polite in his conversation. Grace and poise should appear effortless for a young lady, and Isabel showed all the poise of a new-born fawn, compared to Elizabeth who sat as proud and silent as a doe. By the time the second course was being served, a savoury pudding, perfect decorum became something of an unspoken challenge among the ladies of the table. Jacquelyn caught on quickly with astounding mimicry, which became the greatest irritation for Marchioness Harcourt.

The countess Royceston, who seemed the sort of woman who always endeavoured to keep a conversation light and pleasant, stated, "Your wait staff is so accommodating, Francis." She plucked the pepper from a nearby cruet stand for her soup and her eyes flashed upward to spot me across the room changing a crystal of water at my corner of the table. Ciel caught the slight gesture.

Before the Marchioness uttered a "thank you," Ciel jeered, "Two are mine."

"I beg pardon?" Eyes went wide at the table as the Midfords took interest in their wine glasses.

"Yes, this one wears my crest on his lapel, and Tanaka has served my house since my predecessor."

"I see." The Countess Royceston did not wish to state the obvious. The Midfords had to rely on their nephew's help to cater this dinner party. Now the Marchioness's request for the young Phantomhive to bring Tanaka seemed underhanded.

"If I may," I bowed my head, "It has been a great honour to serve such a magnificent table. Never have I seen such a display, such that only the Marchioness could orchestrate. Also, the Marquis' selection of wine is unmatched… including that of my master's." I knew I would pay for that last comment, as I saw Ciel crumple his napkin in his lap.

By main course the conversation was doomed to steer toward Ciel when Jacquelyn made the comment, "I would so love to attend a real ball," to which Edward chirped, "Well, Ciel, my cousin here," Francis bristled, "has invited me to his charity ball the beginning of the season. Would you be my plus one?"

Somewhere a fork clattered to the floor.

Of course Earl Royceston began to inquire the purpose of the charity, and was impressed that Ciel was making such a charitable donation to Lewisham Hospital. Immediately the conversation headed towards philanthropy and Elizabeth, having been silent for a while lifted her head and announced, "You know, it was my idea that my fiancé hold the charity ball!"

Ciel took a greater interest in his veal and carded potatoes.

Joanne spoke up in his breathy tone, "I think it's very sweet of you, Ciel, to listen to Lady Elizabeth."

Marquis Harcourt asked his son, "Did you receive an invitation?"

"Not yet," he whispered, his head bent low.

"As noble as the act of philanthropy may be," Marchioness Harcourt screeched, "I hardly see a ball as an occasion for it."

Ciel patted his lips and set his fork across his plate. I reached for it, and the young master turned the other way to face the Harcourts. "Some would see such an event in poor taste. My late aunt was a doctor at that hospital, and it is affiliated with King's College, where Edward is studying for his doctorate." Edward sunk in his chair. "I see every reason to support the Lewisham renovations," Ciel lifted his glass for more wine, "especially since it was her Majesty who gave me word of the hospital’s plans, God save the Queen." To which everyone raised their glasses, and Ciel emptied his.

The Harcourts had little to say over dessert.

It seemed the guests rose a little too quickly after the meal was finished. Francis was willing to end the party as quickly as possible, but not without inviting the ladies into the parlour for coffee. Ciel followed the men to the smoking room, and Royceston had to comment that perhaps Ciel was too young for such an awful habit.

"Youth has never been my disadvantage, sir. I think it has been a benefit more often than not." I lit the bowl of his pipe. He stared at the other men through the strings of smoke, daring them to question him further.

"And I see your reputation for insatiable pride is not unfounded, Lord Phantomhive," Marquis Harcourt retorted.

Marquis Midford, who had remained quiet for much of the evening, spoke to my master's defence. "Now now, the boy has much to be proud of. Funtom has seen a forty percent increase in profits since last year alone. His business is booming."

"You seem to have quite the interest in Phantomhive's business, Alexis," the Earl Royceston said.

"Of course I would have an interest in my nephew's success."

"Well, what of his abysmal attendance at Weston two years ago?" Marquis Harcourt barked. Joanne, who appeared as if he would rather be having coffee in the parlour, hid his face, not wishing for this conversation. "The waiting list has dozens of names on it, and I can only assume Phantomhive bypassed that because of some sordid money exchange..." the man puffed on his pipe and continued, "he rigs the cricket match, and not a week later leaves the school. I think he only attended for cheap amusement."

"Father please—"

Ciel gave a piercing laugh and sat his pipe on a nearby tray. "Make all the assumptions you want, noble sir, but that is no reason for me to give an explanation to you."

"Why I never—"

He snapped his fingers, "wine, please," and I offered him his fourth glass that evening, and he was already blushing in the face from the previous three. "One of the disadvantages to my age is that men make assumptions. But the benefit to my age is that when I prove them all wrong, it is that much sweeter." He sipped and continued. "Good sir, I suppose academia is the right place for the readers, and the dreamers," Joanne's eyes widened, "but as for me, I am one of action who takes opportunity where I see it. This is why, as my uncle said, I have 'forty percent increase in profits this past year,' and I can show you the article in this morning's paper where my product is sold out in London, if you want more proof." The room was silent and Ciel revelled in the look of revulsion in Harcourt's face. My master looked to Joanne. "You never told your father of the corruption in that school, did you?"

Alexis saw the conversation escalating. "Now now, I think it's best we—"

"No, someone needs to put this boy in his place. He has all the arrogance of his father—"

"Excuse you, sir—"

Marquis Harcourt was out of his chair. "Do you wish to speak of corruption, Earl Phantomhive? It was your father who set the standard at that school."

"Oh please let's not drudge up old issues—" Alexis had his hands raised, pleading.

"Arrogant, undisciplined, ill-mannered, utter disregard for propriety or tradition—"

"Father, Ciel is none of those things!"

"Keep your mouth shut! Do you see? Do you see the insolence he has taught my son?" The man looked ready to spit on the carpet. Ciel was silent, his eye wide in disbelief to see this man lose his composure to a level that even my master would not breach. "Your family has always been privileged for the position you occupy in the aristocracy. Well, it has only brought you misfortune, Phantomhive. It was your father's undoing, and I will not be surprised in the slightest if you will follow in a similar fashion."

Everyone was breathless. I stared at the man, ready to wring the life from him in a heartbeat. Perhaps the master could sense the anger that broiled in me, how it burned under his eye patch. "Sebastian," he snapped and pointed to the door, as if I were some aggressive hound growling at a stranger who had walked in unannounced.

I do not know what was said, but it must not have been so offensive if the Harcourts did not leave immediately after. I concluded Ciel had given some great show of apology, even if the man had the audacity to insult his father post-mortem. It was one of those displays that my young master could perform without fail, a performance Jacquelyn would have been proud of if she had been in the smoking room to see it.

Ciel sat up slightly in his couch by the fire to sip at his wine. He was in no state to drink anymore, but I was not going to suggest he desist. "Sebastian, I hate dinner parties."

"That is unfortunate."

"Do not be insincere with me."

"Very well. I do not wish to see my young master angry."

"And sometimes it seems the world is eager to anger me."

I had nothing to say in response. I felt powerless, the same as I had for days, having no ability to ease his fury, but instead reminded that I was more than likely a source of it. The boy hated himself, hated his high position, the ceaseless responsibility of maintaining reputation, hours spent accumulating wealth and influence, and how his power dangled on a weak thread made of all these brittle components. The only surety in his life was me, and I thought back to how I had bruised it with my angry outburst that week prior. He needed none of my anger to fuel his own and I caught myself wondering if there would be any opportunity to make amends for it.

He looked at me through his half-empty wine glass, the red sticking to the crystal, colouring his vision. Did he still see me as something desirable? Was that why he chose not to dismiss me from his bedroom? "I don't care what my aunt says. I like you with long hair." He chuckled as I pulled the ribbon from my hair. I shook it out, just drifting above my shoulders.

Ciel was putting on no airs now. He was done performing as a gentleman, and could not care to put it back on again, even if someone knocked at his door and requested his company.

The knock was timid.

"Ciel?" Elizabeth's voice tinkled from behind the door.

My hand was on his shoulder. “ _Should I let her in?”_

“ _What the hell, I don't care.”_

I opened the door and Elizabeth stood with her arms around herself. "I'm sorry if this isn't a good time..."

Ciel announced without turning his head, "As good a time as any." He sat up from his couch, but made no effort to give any proper greeting for her entrance into the room.

"I can't stay for long... mother thinks I've gone to my room for the evening."

The young master made room for her on the couch, patting a seat for her. "How unladylike."

"Why did you not join us in the parlour?" If she was more perceptive, she could have formed her own conclusion just by his clouded eye and warm cheeks.

His head wobbled in her direction. "Did no one tell you what happened in the smoking room this evening?" He placed his arm over the back of the couch, a little too close for the lady's comfort. She looked down and attempted to keep her skirts well enough away from the master's feet, on which he was sitting. "Of course, heaven forbid anyone ruin this happy occasion."

"No need to be sarcastic."

"No need to pretend you're having a good time."

Elizabeth pouted. "Ciel, why must you insist on being so... unpleasant? It's bad enough to see mother nearly pull out her hair from this evening, between bickering among guests, and my brother, I can't believe him... and you! You barely talked to me during dinner... you didn't so much as look my way!"

"Lizzie, just stop." He was rubbing his temple, trying to abate his brimming irritation.

"Are you not happy with me, for some reason? Look at me!" She pulled his face in her hands. His wine glass slipped from his fingers, the crimson splattering over the couch. The glass bounced onto the carpet, its bowl breaking with a dull pop.

It amused me how the sight of something breaking always sent Ciel into a dark rage. His calm demeanour snapped and he gritted his teeth. He pulled Elizabeth by the waist towards him, and she cried out in surprise.

"Ciel!"

"Is this too much for you?" Ciel sank into the couch sideways and had his fiancée pulled on top of him. Elizabeth looked down into the Earl's face in horror, her curls framing his expression of perfect amusement. "What more is it that you want from me, Lizzie? You are getting everything you ever wanted. We will be husband and wife in a few short months, and is that what you really want?" His hands cradled her face as tears began to slide down her cheeks. He brushed one away with his thumb. "What more do I need to do?"

The young lady pushed away, trying to right herself despite layers of skirt working against her, as well as Ciel holding her down. His breathing was erratic, a sheen of sweat on his brow, and I had a sinking feeling that something was not quite right.

"Young master." I did not reach the couch in time.

He looked pale, and a hand whipped to his mouth. In a struggle to eject himself from the couch he pushed Elizabeth to the floor. A sprawling hand made contact with the shards of glass and she yelped as Ciel fell past the couch and made sick on the carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This dinner party. How much friggin' research that went into a Victorian dinner party, my God. How much detail to the set up of the setting, down to how many damn cruet stands are required to be placed for a table of twelve. There's a four course menu for this event, down to beverages to pair for each of them. And here's how Francis decided to seat her guests:  
> Alexis  
> Francis ||Lizzie  
> Royces m||Ciel  
> Royces f ||Edward  
> Isabel ||Jacquelyn  
> Joanne ||Mrqs. Harcourt  
> Mrq. Harcourt
> 
> And this dynamic led to some really tense developments. Half the people seated being original characters I had to imagine what roles they all played. I think my favorite would have to be Jacquelyn Gardner, who is an amalgamation of a person I know who does have a history in theater, and my personal English heritage. She wears a pretty robin-egg blue dress here, I don't remember if I mentioned that.


	17. Chapter 17

I stared at the chaotic sight in front of me. Elizabeth held her bleeding hand at the wrist, trying not to cry as the blood dripped over pale taffeta, and Ciel had no inhibition about his retching noises, or how he was covered in his own acrid filth. I decided it would be best to tend to the lady; the young master could wallow in his pool of vomit for a few moments. He brought the misfortune on himself.

I knelt to pick her from the floor. "Are you all right, my lady?"

What little dignity she was attempting to maintain crumpled away with a great sob. "No, no, I'm really not." She buried her hands in her face, for stopping tears seemed of more importance than stopping blood.

"But you will be?" She pulled her injured hand from her face, leaving a rosy smudge on her cheek. A tear fell across it and for a moment I thought it a little pretty. "Come, my dear, let us find Paula." I helped her off the floor, kicking bits of glass under the couch to prevent more injury. I held her right elbow, propping up a hand which still bled, while I supported her waist. She seemed to have little interest in walking, but with enough momentum she became a little more sure-footed.

We took a soft gait down the hall, and she murmured, "Paula is in my quarters."

"Is she waiting for you?"

"She always waits for me."

Her head rested on my shoulder, and I remembered that she was no petite woman. She had remarkable grace while also being tall and sturdy. By comparison, she made other young women appear as frail as twigs.

"I am so sorry, Lady Elizabeth." My tone was remorseful.

"You don't have to apologise for him." She sniffed, and I feared she might begin crying again.

"Actually, I regret in saying I do." I felt the need to apologise because she would be acquiring a husband who was so damaged and deceitful, and I was largely to blame for it. "My young master's behaviour has been disgraceful. There is no excuse for it. Perhaps I am too permissive."

Elizabeth gave a hollow chuckle.

She did not question how I would know the way to her bedroom, but rather accepted the convenience, allowing me to open the door for her as a matter of course. Paula flew into a frenzied panic at the sight of Elizabeth's swollen eyes and gruesome cut. I could have cleaned her myself, but she needed to be distanced from that scene, near someone as secure and nurturing as her maid. Paula looked on the brink of tears to behold her lady in such a state, and this sent Elizabeth into another crying fit, the pitiable sort where one starts blubbering as a plea for sympathy.

I held Paula's shoulder as she hugged the poor girl. "There was an accident in the young master's room. Please, please do not tell her mother."

Her attention to the lady was arrested for the moment, and I watched the comprehension click. She pursed her lips and nodded. "Right now, the less she knows the better."

Elizabeth hiccupped, and then said. "I'll tell mother I had a nasty run in with the embroidery scissors."

Paula brushed blonde curls out of a mottled face. "Serves you right, to be working on your embroidery in the dark when you're so tired."

"Paula, if you should need anything else—"

"We'll be okay. We will discuss more later—"

"Right, I need to tend to my master." At which point Elizabeth was sobbing again. I turned and heard Paula murmur an "oh dear" as I shut the door.

The party seemed to have settled down. I would have reached the young master's quarters in time, if I had not heard a door click closed and a soft voice inquire, "Will she be all right?"

I turned to see a willowy, pale young man illuminated by a lamp that trembled in his hand. I pulled my watch from my pocket: quarter past eleven. Anyone would have little reason to venture out so late, and it should have been a given that guests would ask to stay after such rich food and so much beverage.

I walked into his sphere of light, and perhaps my up-lit visage was what caused him to take a step back. "Is there something you require? I have pressing matters, sir."

"No... I just... may we talk?" What was this? I cocked an eyebrow at the request. Joanne's look was as desperate and forlorn as I remembered him two years previously, a lost boy seeking some counsel and empathy. I could say no to a pretty face for it was not in my nature.

"Come, I need your lamp." Our walk down the hall was brisk. He covered his mouth when we entered the young master's room, either from the stink or the sight and I did not know which was more deplorable. He was half conscious sprawled in his own shallow puddle of stomach contents, which was a surprising amount. I did not think he was able to see me, or perhaps my gait was distinguishable enough. He could not get out my full name before he was retching again.

Joann murmured, "Oh my God."

"He had too much to drink." Ciel was limp and heavy in my arms as I pulled him off the floor. "A glass of water, Joanne."

"Right." He located the water pitcher on a stand in the corner. I sat the young master in the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom, a distance away from Joanne's sight. I forced Ciel to sip at the glass while I searched through luggage for a fresh nightshirt.

Moments later the boy was coughing up into the toilet, and I insisted on more water, changing and cleaning between his sick spells. I handed Joanne some towels. "Just cover it for now."

"I can clean it."

"I could not ask it of you—"

"No, it's fine, I want to help." I was not about to argue, for Ciel was sobbing for me.

"Sebastian, I feel like I'm going to die."

"No, you are not." I forced him into his night shirt and rubbed his back. "Drink more water."

After about twenty minutes of supporting the young master through his self-imposed ordeal, he managed to slip into bed. I placed a wastebasket nearby just in case. Joanne had managed to clean a good portion of sick off the floor, but there would be a nasty stain to contend with. Joanne sat on the couch by the fire, and I remembered I still had glass to clean from under it.

"Let us find a more suitable place to talk. The library, perhaps?"

"The Midfords have a library?"

"Nothing as grand as what you would find on a college campus, but impressive all the same." With the lamp in hand, we slipped downstairs, across the foyer to the east wing.

Joanne shivered when we entered the large study, for it was quite chilly for it being unoccupied for the evening. I offered to start a fire, even if we did not plan to linger there, but the fragile young man assured me he would be well under his evening jacket. We sat across from one another at a small desk, the lamp to the side between us. Joann saw the ash tray sitting next to the desk and pulled a small case from an inside breast pocket. He placed a thin cigarette between his lips and cradled a lit match in front while I raised an eyebrow.

He exhaled a stream of smoke. "Father doesn't know."

I leaned back in my chair. "And what else does father not know?"

Joanne lowered his head, his hair a shower of silk in front of his eyes. Of course his thoughts ran back to our interactions from two years ago. "It was easy to talk to you, back then. Even though men say they care, after you admit to things they secretly judge you. You never did that."

"People judge because they seek to have power over one another. I had no such motivation with you."

"What was your motivation, Mr. Michaelis?"

I folded my arms. "My motivation has always been the will of my young lord. I serve him in whatever manner needed so that he may achieve his own objectives."

"And when you helped me—"

"Yes, you aided in giving information which offered Earl Phantomhive the opportunity to elevate his position in the school's hierarchy. It was necessary for solving his case. You were there; you know enough."

Joann occupied himself with the cigarette, flicking ash into the pan. "I still don't understand all of what happened."

"And this is not the reason you wanted to talk to me." How his unoccupied hand fidgeted and how he compulsively flicked his cigarette indicated to me his nervousness. It was his routine to push the hair out of his face, and I wondered why he did not trim it if it caused him such irritation.

"I have a question, Mr. Michaelis." He took a deep pull off his cigarette. "Even if at the time you were simply playing a role, that moment when I came to you for confession... it still means something, right?"

"Mean something? In what way?"

"Were you lying to me?"

"My acting as a minister was a lie. My sympathy for your hardship was not. If my advice helped to put your mind at ease, then you already know if it means something, because it mattered to you. Be damned how anyone else may interpret it." I smirked and his expression seemed to brighten.

"Mr. Michaelis, you have a way of putting matters simply yet you speak profound truths."

"No, you flatter me. I state things as they are, nothing more. Men complicate the matters of the world, and therefor they hide truths behind their hopes and perceptions, how they wish things could be."

"I have wondered about such things, and have made that same conclusion." He snubbed his cigarette. "And it makes the world all the more terrifying."

"How is that?"

"You see people live behind lies, and they don't realise it. Any chance to pull them from it and they become violent." There was a pain hiding behind his eyes that shone in the lamplight. His lip trembled; he sat before me as a child whose fears did not lie outside his small scope of the world, but rather in his timid heart.

I leaned in over the table. "What lie have you been living behind? What are you hiding from your father, Mr. Harcourt?"

His pale face flushed a furious red as his features cracked and he sobbed, "Please… please don't call me mister."

I did not know what to make of this outburst. "I meant no offense..."

"I just need someone to tell me I'm not going mad, that what I'm feeling is not a sign that I'm losing my mind."

"What are you feeling...?" The young man panted and sobbed, losing control of himself and looked ready to crumple under his own misery. I rose from my chair, pivoting around the table and I knelt before him. He could not hide his face if I were looking up at him. "Listen... no one is here to hurt you." I remember using these same words with Ciel when he was younger. "I am here, no one else." I held his arms on each side, firm and assuring. "Look at me. Take a breath. Tell me what is causing you such distress."

"It's hard to put into words, but I can try." He gave a great shudder, my touch seeming to calm him. "This life I have... I sometimes try to look at myself from the outside... and I wonder if this was a big mistake, that the life I was given was the wrong one, and perhaps I was meant to lead an entirely different one."

"That is very vague. You will have to be more specific."

His voice was barely a whisper. "I look in the mirror and I don't like what I see. I've always felt that way. I can care for my skin and my hair all I want, shave every morning and evening and it still doesn't make me feel better about myself. The clothes I wear are to keep everyone around me from staring, but I feel suffocated and exposed in them at the same time. Isabel looks at me with the expectation of something I can't be, that I never had the ability to be."

"A husband?"

"A man."

Comprehension clicked in my head and with it I saw a different person sitting before me. I saw the delicate hand that hid a sensitive countenance. Narrow legs were held tight at the knees and an arm slipped around a thin torso, something Elizabeth did when she was feeling uncertain of herself. I was not staring at an awkward young man. I was staring at a young woman that did not know how to feel right with herself.

"Oh. Oh dear..." Perhaps Joann could see the look of futility on my face. I had no explanation, no words of comfort for this. He fell before me to the floor, a great wave of emotion, fierce and turbulent as only a grieving woman can display, grief for her own misfortune, her own fate.

"I don't know what to do, Mr. Michaelis!"

Joann sat in my lap, burying a face in my arm. I patted soft hair, cradling this lanky form. I had no solution for this either. What was he coming for in the first place? How could this situation even begin to be fixed? He was not mad. He was frightened and hopeless and there is only one thing to be done for people like that, and I was already in a contract.

I held him fast, wiped his tears and he stared at me with those red eyes, which I thought were rather strange and lovely. I whispered, "I think you just needed to tell someone. I think you needed someone else to know, and I do not think you are insane. Something I have told the young master on a number of occasions... we feel how we feel. There is no right or no wrong about it. All one can do is accept the truth of it."

And that truth tore through me with such razor sharpness I tightened my grip on Joann in response to this crushing blow. My own idiocy, my own hypocrisy, that I would tell this soul that there was no right or wrong, only truth, to accept this person's feelings, when not so long ago I had taken Ciel's feelings and condemned them. It was selfish, it was cowardly. Yes, I am heartless, and ultimately self-serving, but in that moment, this was another example of where I had to place my master before my own needs, my own comfort. I had taken bullets for him, been maimed and beaten in all manner of ways for him. Perhaps I could take his affection, like a wound, and I would nurse myself from it in time. I could bear that, if only to stay true to this one principle.

"Joann." I cupped his face in my hands. "It takes real courage to admit the truth to ourselves, and even more to admit it to someone else. I am honoured you chose me to be the one to tell." He gave a small smile. "Do not expect others to understand your truth. I cannot advise you to let others know it. Perhaps there will be a time in your life where you will overcome this, where what you feel here" I laid a hand on his chest, "is reflected in the mirror."

"Do you think that is something to strive towards?"

"If it would make you happy."

"Just knowing it could be a possibility makes me happy."

I was suddenly aware of how close our faces were, and this was not my doing. Joanne was searching my eyes and I gazed right back.

I murmured, "If it is any consolation, I have considered you lovely as you are."

"I've wondered about you, Mr. Michaelis."

"My young master calls me Sebastian."

"Oh." Joann's eyes were half-lidded, pouting lips brushing mine with curiosity. Such a chaste action, compared to the desperate wanting I had found myself experiencing with Ciel, how he would meet my desire with his own viciousness. This was intimacy with no passion, and I felt it best to restrain myself. A gloved hand slipped behind a thin neck, my thumb tender against smooth jaw as I reciprocated that warmth.

If I could do it for someone I cared nothing for, I could do it a thousand times and more for my master.

Joann quivered, whispered, "Oh my God," against my lips before backing into the chair. Another cigarette was on his lips, and he was rather clumsy lighting it with quivering fingers which suddenly seemed too large for him.

I rose from my kneeling position and chuckled as I sat in my seat across from him. There was still plenty of oil in the lamp, meaning still quite enough time to talk.

"I have that effect on people." I shot him a smug grin. "So you have wondered about me."

"Yes, that kiss confirmed it." Joann clung to that cigarette.

"What else have you wondered?"

"I've wondered about Ciel."

I leaned inward, my face propped in my hands with elbows on the table. "You are far too perceptive for your own good, dear." Joann blushed. "You have been brave enough with your secret, so I suppose you have earned a secret from me. Exchange one for another, no more or less."

"Sebastian, would you care for a cigarette?"

"You offer me too much."

"Not at all."

"Well, Joann, if you insist." He flicked a match to life and held it before me over the table. As I leant back and let a plume of smoke billow, he shook the flame out and dropped it in the ashtray. I inhaled the smoke into my lungs, and it felt a little like home, a comfortable and familiar sadness, and I remembered why I never cared to make smoking a habit. "The young master would literally beat me if he was aware that anyone would know it. He is of a different persuasion I think, although he hates to admit it, and yes, he has sought that company with me."

Joann's eyes widened. "And is that why you two...?"

"Oh, we have other reasons for this professional arrangement, and you must pardon my dismissal on the matter, no one is privy to that secret." I reached for the ash tray. "No, I suppose you could say our... affair... call it what you will, it is a rather recent development."

Joann stared into the lamp light. "What about Elizabeth?"

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know."

"Of course she does not know. It would kill her to know."

"How does Ciel feel about keeping it from her?"

I sat and thought about that for a moment. It was difficult to consider his feelings. "I think he hides it well, and he hides things from himself. If he were more honest with himself, he would admit that it tears him apart, to be so deceitful to one of the few who has ever shown him patience and kindness."

"Oh..." he clutched at his shoulder, as though to stop himself from rattling. “That’s so sad. That is so... so sad..."

"Perhaps you would find it sadder to realise that the young master cares less and less for his fiancée. He has tried... he has tried so hard to care about her needs and her feelings. Sometimes that is impossible if it is just not in you."

"How do you feel towards Ciel?"

"I..." I dragged on my cigarette. "That is the wrong question to ask, Joanne."

"Do you care about him?"

"I care for his wellbeing."

"That's not the same thing." Joann put out his second cigarette, his eyes boring into me.

"You are right. It is not in me to care more."

He seemed to understand my meaning, his features softened and he reached for my hand across the table. "I'm sorry, Sebastian."

"No, it is quite—"

"No, you misunderstand me. I am sorry that you just can't... feel more."

"What?" I almost dropped my cigarette on the table.

"Do you see the way he looks at you? He tries to hide it behind his icy tone when he speaks, but he looks at you, and he looks at you deeply, something in his face just melts. The crease in his brow goes away and he doesn't hold his jaw as tight." I pictured his face, seeing such a harrowed look to him but his features were soft. He only carried that hardness when he went back to concentrating on his work.

No, it was the other way around. He always carried that hardness, that weight. It was only when I entered the room that his face softened. That look, the face which I found so beautiful, that expression was reserved for me alone. I thought back to the times when Ciel was with Elizabeth. I thought to the times when he glanced in my direction, and almost instinctually Elizabeth would turn his head to try and grab that expression for herself. It would be gone as soon as his eye fell upon her, no matter how much he tried to gaze with sincerity.

He was baring something for me. For me alone. He was not even contractually obligated to give it to me yet and it was there for the taking. Was it any wonder that face terrified me?

I snuffed my cigarette, feeling as wispy as the last tendrils of smoke. "Well, what can I say to that?"

Perhaps Joanne saw my knit brow in the warm lamp light. Perhaps he saw my fingers tremble as I ran them through my loose hair. He murmured, "I'm sorry... Se-Sebastian. I didn't mean—"

"No, you did nothing. Thank you."

"For what?"

I sighed. "You have given me some... perspective. I will leave it at that." I caught him trying to stifle a yawn. "It is late."

He rose from his chair. "I should retire."

I walked with him to his room, and he shivered, either from the cold or the heaviness of the subjects we discussed. "Will I see you again?" he whispered.

"If you wish." My lips curled. He allowed me to move a strand of hair from his face, gloved fingers stopping at sharp jaw. Such a delicate face. His breath shuddered from the contact. His lips parted as if to speak but I placed my hand over his mouth. "No more. I hope you rest easy tonight."

He slipped into his guest room and I was left in the hallway in darkness. For some time since being in the library I felt a yearning from my master, a pathetic loneliness, self-hatred and shame. I crept back to his room. Cleaning the stain from the carpet was no more difficult than a flick of the wrist.

Even in his muddled consciousness he knew I was in the room, by some sense that was beyond physical for us. My presence was as a thick blanket, blotting out light and dampening sound.

"Sebastian..."

"Yes, young master?"

I was already hanging my jacket, and setting my shoes next to the chair by the desk. The fireplace held no more than scorching coals, and I left it. I poured another glass of water, sitting by his side and propping him in the dark. He allowed me to tip the glass to his lips, trusting I would not spill. His eyes drooped, unable to focus even if there was light to permit it.

He eased into the pillows, but his hand clutched mine, commanding me to stay, to not leave him. The unspoken command was not necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Joanne. He started out as a figure to sit at the table for the Midford's dinner party, and that was it. I remember there being something of a hiatus between chapters 15 and 16, because when I started drafting out ideas for the dinner party, Joanne kept nagging me in the back of my head, like he was meant to be more for this story. 
> 
> My earliest drafts date to early 2012, and he didn't exist as a character. We were coming up on the conclusion of the Luxury Liner arc at that point. Joanne Harcourt wouldn't make his first appearance in canon until June 2012, about the time I was ready to start penning this story for public consumption. He was a nondescript character, and Weston arc wasn't thrilling me. 
> 
> But Joanne was the reason for my hiatus. I wouldn't have worked up such a monumental development to his (her? Joanne doesn't prefer that) character if he didn't have a role to play later. And what I had anticipated being a story no more than 25 chapters long became one that bloated past 35. Whoops. 
> 
> And once I had made this determination of what Joanne meant to this story, this chapter came out in a rush. The first draft doesn't look all that different from the final. A lot of personal feeling in this. I've had several come to me about Joanne's characterization, thanking me for this portrayal that resonates with some real-life experience of their own. That humbles me, truly.


	18. Chapter 18

I followed Ciel as he shuffled downstairs to find the Marchioness sipping tea with her daughter, who was endeavouring to keep her bandaged hand hidden under the table. Francis Midford did not look pleased in the slightest. "Ciel, it is nearly eleven. Most of our guests have left for the day and you were not there to see them off. I am surprised at you."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Francis."

 The young master was as well-pressed, tucked and polished as his aunt and this was no reflection of his present condition, for he was inclined to cradle his aching head and shield his eyes from the sun streaming into the parlour. He would not have been half as presentable if it were not for my ample assistance. The Marchioness reflected all the virtues of noble discipline in a jacquard blouse that reached her neck. Elizabeth was wearing a fashion of equal conservatism and I suspected it was motivated by a desire to not bring attention.

The elder woman sighed and then motioned to the table. "Be that as it may... would you care for tea?"

"I really couldn't, but I appreciate your offer, truly. Would you permit me to speak with Elizabeth?" Ciel tensed his shoulders. I stood to the side, attentive should some need of me would arise… I suspected I could be of no aid to my master, with how Marchioness sat rigid, lips pursued, trying not to clutch at her chair.

"Whatever you have to say to my daughter, you can say in front of me." A concerned mother could intuit that something was amiss with her daughter. I reasoned that Francis had asked Elizabeth the cause of her injury, and such a silly lie as embroidery shears would not convince a woman who possessed a sharp intellect.

"Lizzie." His aunt sniffed at her nephew’s informality. "Would you care for a walk in the garden this afternoon?"

Elizabeth had made no motion since her fiancé had entered the room. At the question, she turned to look at Ciel, who was trying not to appear so desperate in front of his aunt. "I'm afraid I must decline, Ciel."

"Sit down, nephew." The boy tried to not rattle the chair as he took his seat.  There was a moment of silence as the woman raised her teacup to sip, as if the tea were a source of her poise and composure. After she set it down on the table, she knit her hands in her lap. "You two must take me for a fool."

The pair of adolescents attempted to protest, but Francis snapped, "Enough. Elizabeth, honestly, you are not as daft as to accidentally cut yourself with scissors. I know, because I taught you more sense. Ciel, did you insist Elizabeth give me this witless lie?"

"I knew of no such thing!"

"Then one of you better tell me the truth, because I will not tolerate this deception. Elizabeth, I do not know what has gotten into you, but I have never known you to keep things from me. And nephew, I fear I would not have seen this change in my daughter if it were not for your influence."

The young lord bowed his head. "I am so sorry ma'am, I have no explanation --"

"No Ciel!" Elizabeth stood from her seat. "Mother, I'm the one to blame in all this!" The other two gawked for a moment. I heard birds chirping from the aspen outside.

"What?" The Marchioness looked startled, for she was not ready to believe her youngest and only daughter would disappoint her. "Calm yourself, you are no crazed woman. Explain to me what is going on here."

Elizabeth took a deep breath as she sat down, adjusting the folds of her dress as though collecting thoughts. "Mother, last night I was not where I should have been. I lied to you, because I said I was retiring for the evening, which you took to mean that I was going straight to my own quarters.” Her lip quivered at the confession. “That was not so, and I am ashamed to have been so deceitful."

The Marchioness sat rigid, doing a very good job in containing her fury. Crossing her arms seemed to aid in this endeavour. "You went to Ciel's room after you left the parlour, did you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ciel, you know such behaviour is indecent and you did nothing to stop her at the doorway? You let her into your quarters at nearly eleven o'clock last night?” Francis trilled, “With guests at the estate no less?"

"Ma'am, I was not in my right mind."

"And what excuse do you have for that? Do I need to be worried about your intentions with my daughter?"

"Mother please!"

"Ma'am I had been drinking--"

"Ciel!" Elizabeth pounded the table. "What Ciel does in his own privacy was not my business and I was wrong to encroach on it."

I was grateful that I was not a member of this conversation, for all at the table would have noticed my look of surprise at that statement. Try as she might to save Ciel from any reprimand, the Marchioness gasped in disbelief.

"Am I to be concerned for what you feel you can get away with behind closed doors, Ciel?"

The boy cradled his head in his hands, hair still damp from the bath I had just given him. He knew full well he was in almighty trouble. "I believe I have caused a great deal more than concern, ma'am." He sighed and motioned to his fiancée to keep quiet. "Elizabeth, please let me explain what I remember.

"I will not attempt to explain my reasoning for why I had so much to drink last night, because no justification excuses the fact that I indulged far too much. I was not a gentleman because of it. Elizabeth saw my rude behaviour caused by spirits and tried to take my glass from me, because she felt I needed no more, and she was right, but by that time I had imbibed far too much. The glass fell to the floor and broke, and I did not notice it until she fell and cut her hand on it. And she would not have fallen if it weren't for my anger."

I would have applauded his story if I had the freedom to do so. He managed to paint Elizabeth in a most noble light, gave no detail of his actions in the story, and retained enough truth for it to sound believable. The Marchioness noticed my smirk and barked, "And where were you when all this occurred, Mr. Michaelis?" My face went deadpan.

I proclaimed, "I can honestly say that I am too lenient with my master, Marchioness. Perhaps because I favour Lady Elizabeth, I am too indulgent with her as well. It would have been most sensible to not allow her into the room at all, even if the master was insistent, and Elizabeth had the noblest intention to force him to stop drinking."

Ciel lifted his head. "She did put up a rather good fight."

“Madam, rest assured as soon as I saw that Elizabeth was injured, I subdued the situation.”

Marchioness closed her eyes and gave herself a moment of silence. Her voice shook, but with calm breath she uttered, "All three of you have acted poorly, and look at the consequence of it. My daughter has been hurt."

“Mother, I've endured worse."

"Yes, from noble fights and tournaments. There is no honour in the wound you carry now. You were foolish, and I hate to say such a thing about my own daughter. And what if someone else knows of this incident? Do any of you know if anyone else saw this?"

I thought of Joann. We all shook our heads.

"Ciel, if you were any other, I would dismiss you from my house. Alexis will hear of this situation, and if he finds the transgression unforgiveable, you will be. I have granted you an enormous amount of patience, nephew, because I see too much of Vincent in you, and it scares me." She rested her forehead in the palm of her hand as if to purge herself of the thought. The young master shuddered.

"Strict curfew, in your quarters at nine o'clock and not a minute later. Both of you. This will be enforced. No drinking. Lord in Heaven, overindulging on Good Friday, Ciel, I just can’t believe you. Any plans you might have had with Elizabeth today are out of the question. You will see each other for dinner, for Easter Mass, and if you have behaved, you may have an afternoon together before you leave for your own estate.

"In the meantime, Elizabeth, you will be studying your scripture. I think you need some reminding of your virtues. Ciel, I can make rules for my house, but I do not feel it is my place to punish you. Mr. Michaelis, do you have a suggestion as to a firm discipline for him?"

"Latin."

Under his breath Ciel whined, "Oh no please..."

"I believe that is fitting." She stood from the table and the two adolescents followed suit, even if they did not raise their eyes. The young master had no tea when he sat at the table. "Elizabeth, to your quarters. Ciel, you can find ample materials in the library. Work there if it suits you."

 

* * *

 

The young master’s mood changed little over the course of the day. He was sluggish that morning, which was why he slipped on the tile when getting out of the bath. His listless condition was not due to his aunt and uncle, the events of the past few days, or his guilt over Lizzie. Contributing factors they might have been, I felt the true reason for his condition was me.

The Marquis felt guilty for having placed his nephew in a defensive position that Friday night. Francis was still sore over his conduct. Elizabeth had not so much as looked at him. She was the only one who knew just how deplorable his state had become that late night. The tense feelings held by those of the Midford estate worsened my master’s feelings of hopelessness and isolation. I knew he was plagued by those emotions because I had seen them in his face since that morning when I had assisted him.

Before dawn on Sunday he and the Midfords climbed into the carriage to attend Easter mass. Silence presided over the company, for an air of fatigue blanketed them. Arriving at the cathedral, they exited the carriage, and as Ciel stepped down he grazed my hand.

_I don't want to be here anymore._

His company were ushering him into the church.  I whispered to him, “I will have your luggage ready by the time you have finished brunch." I think Ciel was contented for that acknowledgement, some reassurance that I was anticipating his need to leave as soon as politely possible. His features softened, his blue eye widening to reveal some flicker of light behind it. In the dawn, when no one was able to see, there was that expression Joann had referred to, a look Ciel reserved just for me.

The young master would not take his communion. I watched from the back of the north aisle, off to the side and out of anyone's attention. His lips only touched the goblet offered to him. He did not swallow the wafer, but deposited it out of sight when he returned to the pew.

I cannot say that being inside the church made me uneasy. It is a strange feeling of knowing that it was not my place, how expansive doors opened to welcome all but that inclusivity failed to penetrate me. High ceilings were to house the Glory of All, and yet for all the architecture's hollowed expanse I felt suffocated. It is these occasions I feel it best to keep out of everyone's way, and watch with indifference. People's hearts are more open in these spaces and it offered me a glimpse into the hope of humanity, but such sentiments may as well be spoken in some language that I knew at one time, but has been lost to me.

The Marchioness appeared to be in kinder spirits after the service, wishing to extend some last bit of hospitality over brunch. Ciel seemed impervious to it, taking his meal with politeness but extending no warmth. At the end of the meal, Elizabeth asked of her fiancé, "Would you walk with me in the garden before you return to your estate?"

The boy took a sip of his tea, glancing at his aunt who gave him a slight nod of approval. "Yes, I would very much like that."

I slipped to his guest room to pack his belongings, setting the rooms to immaculate condition. The bed was made, the ash from the fireplace was swept away, the bathroom was scrubbed to a gleaming white and for good measure, I filled a vase with lilies as one last token of appreciation, in the hopes that the Marchioness would see it. I feared Ciel's stay with the Midfords had bruised his relationship with them. The Marquis Midford so wished to view his nephew as a bright and enthusiastic young man well matched for his daughter. His wife wanted to see Ciel had the strength to uphold strong convictions of duty and honour. He very well may have tarnished those expectations.

Bags and luggage were fastened to the coach and afterwards I left the driveway to the expansive gardens beyond to find my master. Oak trees were beginning to show their first green, azalea showing their first blooms. Short shrubs indicated grassy walkways leading to a central fountain framed by an elegant colonnade. The pond before it reflected the sky above. From behind one of the large oaks I spotted the couple sitting on a bench by the fountain, Ciel's head low as he grasped at the lady's gloved hands.

His voice quivered, "Please forgive me for the hurt I cause you."

"Ciel, the accident with the glass...," Elizabeth began, "that is not my issue. I think what concerns me the most... is your state of mind." The young boy turned away, his shoulders tense. "And the drinking. Men don't drink as much as that... unless something drives them to it." She placed her hands on her fiancé’s shoulders, shifting on the bench to tighten the space between them. "You would not say to Mother what has made you so troubled, but I can see there is something that plagues you. Would you tell me? Please Ciel… please do not keep things from me."

"Lizzie..." he reached for the injured hand on his shoulder, inspecting it with light touch and tenderness.  "You are so very patient with me. You have been patient with me for years, and I don't know how you can stand it. I don't know why you can even bother to care for me so much, when I have been such a source of distress for you. Why continue this?"

The young woman was trying so hard to stay strong, to keep her voice level and her eyes from weeping. "Are you saying you would rather break the engagement?"

"No, I'm asking you if you would be happier if we did."

"Never!" She flung her arms around Ciel, burying her face in the frills of his Sunday best. "There is so little happiness to be had in this world, Ciel. There is so little of it for me here. But one thing that has kept me strong is my hope... my hope that we will have the chance at happiness together."

He patted her back, looking to the sky with such helplessness. It was the same expression he gave me the morning prior, when I had reached to catch him from his fall in the bath. I recalled how his gaze was so steadfast, how his mind was adrift and his lips were parted in expectation. Just to recall the memory had sent a tingle to my neck, as if my skin had memory of where he had touched me.

The simple truth was Elizabeth would find no happiness. She was clinging to a dream, because different circumstances always appear more promising than current ones. Perhaps there was a small voice inside the girl that told her that Ciel would eventually bring her misery, but that voice could not be heard over the wailing that told her to marry and take on the name of Phantomhive.

Elizabeth whispered, "I have a secret of my own, Ciel. When I was visiting last time and you kissed me... I overreacted. I did not know what to make of it. I was not ready for it. It was just so... intense. Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

"I, uh," Ciel faltered. "I practice on my pillow." What a silly lie, I thought.

The lady aligned her gaze with his. "...Would you do it again?"

He endeavoured to keep his sight from straying. His voice rumbled with unease.  "Would it make you happy?"

"Only if you wanted to kiss me."

Ciel inched his face to hers. He held her jaw as if it were a china cup. There was no force in his lips, all sweetness. She responded with hands around his waist, which he took as an invitation to press deeper. The boy was searching for something in that kiss, an emotion, a truth or certainty. Elizabeth looked as though she did not know how to proceed. Her movements were always graceful and self-assured, and a kiss brought out clumsiness in her.

When they pulled away, the young woman looked as though she might faint. Ciel cradled her waist, her neck, planting a kiss on the side of her lips that was chaste, but also the most intimate gesture I had seen of him. I heard him whisper through her curls, "My secret was that I was holding back, Lizzie. If that kiss is enough to make you feel faint, consider how it would be to receive all my passion."

I watched Elizabeth hold her legs tighter underneath her dress, attempting to suppress an uncomfortable and unfamiliar arousal. "Ciel I cannot bare it--"

"I know." She looked ready to cry when faced with such intensity. My master peered at her with his azure eye, and I noticed to look at her with one eye straight on required him to turn his head to the right only slightly. It made him appear forever distracted. "This is why I keep secrets. You will be much happier if you do not push to know my secrets."

The two sat in silence, coming to terms with the fact that perhaps there was nothing more to be said. She was on the verge of tears when he stood up. "I love you, Lizzie. It's time for me to go home."

He stalked off, leaving her to the bench. As he passed by my oak, he turned to look at me, bitterness wrinkling the corners of his lips. I did not know if it was because of my voyeuristic actions, or because he had just shared a kiss with Lady Elizabeth.

Tanaka was waiting in the coach.  Before I opened the door for my young master, he muttered, "In case you were wondering, Sebastian, I could have been kissing a corpse for all I felt."

I paused, and stood in front of the door. "So you lied to her when you said you wanted to kiss her. Do you lie when you say you love her?"

"I hope it is not a lie."

That was the extant of our conversation and he stewed for the length of our trip to the manor. When we arrived, Ciel would not allow me to open the carriage for him. He stormed out, charging past his servants who stood outside to proclaim a warm greeting.

"Young master?" His heels clopped as he stormed up the stairs, across to the east wing to his study. A door slam echoed through the foyer.

Finnian said behind me, "Why do I have the impression that the young master had a horrible time?"

 

* * *

 

The young master's lack of engagement with anyone after his departure from the Midfords had placed the servants on edge. He spent the night tossing and flailing. I knew he was reaching a breaking point. Ciel was not going to admit to his troubled state of mind, much less ask me to alleviate it. He was under the impression that if there was ever occasion for me to be of assistance, that unresolvable conflict would arise once more.

I thought of how this was reaffirmed by our last exchange that Saturday morning. For that brief moment, when the master was in my care, he had achieved some level of relaxation, present in a moment of pampering. I was delighted to give it.

When I caught his fall out of the bath, he clung to my jacket with wet hands, and I realized my naked hands were around his waist. His breathing echoed against the walls.  When he reached for my face, I registered that it had been a fortnight since he had last touched me, and I did not realize until that moment how much I missed it.

I heard his voice in my mind; _I have so craved your touch._ The thought jolted me to my senses.

I tore my gaze from his, setting him right on his feet. Dejected, he ripped the towel from my grasp and muttered, "I don't need your help." As he walked away to dress, I could hear his mind howling, _"Why, why, why?!"_

It was that exchange which forced me to accept that I was the primary cause of Ciel’s inner turmoil. I, who had before provided catharsis and respite, had discouraged his advances. Amongst all the events of the weekend, he had received no passion from me. As a result, my master was at the mercy of his loneliness, compounded by the stresses of obligation and propriety.

It was the next morning after breakfast when Finnian bolted into the parlour I was tidying, panic-stricken and panting from running to find me. I heard his wailing before he even reached the room. He burst through the door hard enough for the doorknob to knock a hole in the wall.

"Why are you causing so much destruction now?" I asked, inspecting the damage with some irritation.

“I'm really sorry Sebastian, sir, but it’s the young master!" Finnian looked to the point of tears, but I did not sense that Ciel was hurt, nor in any danger. I had spent a great deal of my mental efforts to block him from my mind because his incessant negative thoughts were distracting to my usual tasks.

I sat the scruffy gardener in an elegant, cushy settee, hoping it would settle him. His leg jostled, for relaxing was the last of his concerns.

"Tell me what has upset you, Finnian."

"He's... he's..." he sniffled before wailing a great sob, "torn up the rose garden!"

"What?"

I handed the man a handkerchief and he blew his nose before continuing. "The young master got into my garden shed and nicked a pair of hedge clippers. When I saw him, I asked if he wanted to help with the gardening, and I just thought he wanted some fresh air or something. He told me to run along and mind my own business and a short while later I found him in the rose garden..." Finnian broke into fresh sobs.

The quickest way to discovering just how much damage Ciel had caused was to go the garden and assess the situation. I pulled a crying Finnian out of the chair and dragged him alongside me down the hall. He continued his blubbering, probably because my grip on the man suggested I was angry with him.

On the contrary, I had lost my patience with Ciel. I was finished with skirting around the issue. I was frustrated with his inability to settle his own conflicts, and how he would prefer to let them consume him. I was angered that because of his strife, he would therefore lash out at me.

Those rose gardens were in my care. Everyone knew just how much time and effort I spent nurturing them because they were the master’s favourite.  

We were halfway across the lawn when we saw the destruction.

Vines snaked up and overhead on trellises, the blooms casting soft shadows over the stone walkway. Even in the warm sunlight the petals were white as frost, each bloom as smooth and solid as marble. Their delicacy was bared as they were chopped from overhead, their graceful fall stilted by a mean wind. Petals were crushed underfoot, bruised and dirtied; each sculptural bloom torn for all of its frailty displayed.

"My Lord, stop this immediately!" He arrested his hacking at the vines to turn to me. For a brief moment, his face was stricken pale, much like the ground upon which he stood. His breath was as violent as the wind, and his bright eye as frail as a falling rose. As he focused on me, my charging to meet him, the pale expression was brushed away as seething anger clouded his features.

Finnian fell to the ground wailing once more, picking up the roses as if to tell the speechless flowers that they were going to be okay. "Sebastian! He killed them!" He moaned in a high pitched voice. Ciel made a weak attempt to throw the shears at me, but I was quick to catch them and with a swift motion I ploughed them into the earth, showing any further attack against me was trivial.

I stalked closer to the young master and I could see Finnian out of the corner of my eye, shrinking away on the ground, as if some subconscious instinct knew just how lethal I could be in that moment. I kept my expression calm. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Ciel shook his fists, and he screamed, "God damnit Sebastian! Does nothing disturb you??" He kicked at the trellis. "I just destroyed this fucking rose garden and you're not even angry about it!"

"What has you so angry, young master?"

"Everything, you fucking idiot!"

"You are out of line."

"Don't you tell me--" he panted. His shook with a tenseness that gripped all parts of him. "I HATE THIS!" He roared, grabbing at the trellis, attempting to rock it free from the ground and screamed from the frustration of not being able to topple it.

I took one look at Finnian, pointed to the house, and he registered that as a sign to sprint and not ask questions. The young master’s gasps were hoarse. I could feel the adrenaline pounding through him and it set my nerves on edge to see such wild ferociousness. His heart pulsed with an angry pace and it was surprising it would not knock from his chest. A cold sweat was on the back of his neck as I tried to still him, but my efforts encouraged him to swing at me.

Perhaps it was realizing I was far sturdier than a rickety trellis. Perhaps it was my impenetrable countenance against his reactive state of being. Ciel clutched at his sides, rocking and swinging at the waist. His breath was short and he seemed to gulp at the air. "I can't see...! I can't..." He wheezed in quick spurts, falling to his knees over the fallen roses. He grasped at petals, as if to find something substantial to hold to. He would not stop shaking; He was panicking. "Oh my God... Oh...." a deep sob erupted and was followed by sporadic breaths. His chest heaved, "I'm dying...!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking back, I had very different ideas for this chapter. I have an oulinech18.txt dated for January 2014 which becomes the backbone for events in chapter 19 and so on. But it was around May of that year that I thought of the rose garden. The rose garden is crucial to this story. 
> 
> I imagine a painting for Ciel, surrounded by these steely white flowers, with a most morose expression. An angry, defeated expression. I've wanted this for years.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Part 4: Conjunction** _   
_Come to me in union, for you are fair and flawless. Terrene coupling elevates to a sublime force to transmute your essence. From it buds a greater property._

* * *

 

Ciel was a mess of trembling nerves and collecting his convulsing form was a challenge. He coughed and sputtered, straining to breathe and he clutched my collar as I marched back to the manor.

My master was broken, having reached his limit, and I was sure my casual response to his display of destruction was the last component to this breakdown. On the surface I must have appeared to react to the situation with a detached sense of responsibility, but at the base of me I rattled with apprehension.  I was steadfast in my course of action, that Ciel should receive what was necessary to alleviate his affliction. I was concerned with that outcome.

On the other hand, I more than craved him; the withdrawal forced me to a state of desperation. I desired to take advantage of his weakened condition, his emotional vulnerability, his need for my contact. I determined my quarters would be the best place for my young master to work through his state of panic.

I caught sight of Mey-Rin coming from the kitchen as I dashed through the back door. "What's going on? Why is Finny in such a state? Is the Young Master alright?"

I would not even look in her direction as I barked, "No business of yours. Get back to your work."

Low ceilings in the wing which my quarters were located lessened the cavernous feeling that pervaded much of the house. There was such emptiness in many of the spaces he occupied, the sorts of rooms that force one to feel small and insignificant. I reasoned such an environment was not suitable for working through a panic attack.

My quarters were a white milieu. The walls glinted flake white from the light seeping through the window. I needed no adornment, no touch of personality, just stark emptiness that only served as a space for my own reflection and respite. I kept birch furniture well-oiled and everything was without stain or blemish.

I could not bother to hang a curtain over the window, or to place an object on the mantel. Even my writing desk remained clear, with pen and stationary having its proper place.

I never much cared for the room during the daytime.

I was certain the young master’s malaise had dulled his perception and he had little idea where he was for his state of distress. He had broken into a cold sweat, his wheezing continued, eye constricted. I whipped the covers from the bed, and the frame creaked from his stiff fall. His shoes and coat were discarded on the floor and I wrapped the blankets tight around his shivering body.

"Breathe, young master. You need to take a deep breath." He must have heard this advice, for he rasped in a breath, his chest heaving as though it were a great ache to fill his lungs with air. I sat in my chair by the desk, allowing him space to work through his episode. It had been years since I had seen a breakdown this dramatic. His head fell into my pillow and the sheets twisted around him as he convulsed. I was not fearful of his condition, because I saw no sign of any real danger, so long as he was not alone and at risk to cause himself injury. I would be patient while he worked through his spell. What was I to do when he was back to a state of calm, I pondered.

His pounding heartbeat slowed to a heavy thud. His muscles twitched to relaxation and Ciel gave a tired sob from under the tangled covers. I stood, leaned over him and whispered, "I will fetch the master something to drink. I will be back in five minutes. Watch the clock if you must."

The kitchen was a short distance from my quarters, and the servants, Tanaka included, sat around the table looking much too idle for my preference. Their heads moved in unison as they watched me walk from the ice box to the cooker with milk, setting a saucepan on a heated eye. Warm milk with honey was a comfort for Ciel in the past, and I reasoned it would serve better than tea.

Bardroy was the first to speak. "Did a right number on that rose garden, eh, Sebastian?" I did not turn at this comment.

"Is the young master going to be okay?" Finnian's voice wavered.

"Seemed a frightful mess, he did." Mey-Rin said to Finnian.

Bardroy's cigarette smoke in the kitchen was one of my greatest irritations. It tumbled from his mouth with the words, "Been some time since I've seen a man with so much anger. Not healthy, carryin' that kind of violence. Boy needs a hobby, or somethin'."

I was certain that Tanaka was only in the room to pipe in should he have to keep their conversation in check. I placed my contents on a tray and stated "The situation is under control." Before leaving the kitchen I heard Tanaka chuckle in that knowing way.

When I entered my room once more, I found Ciel clutching my pillow. He gulped in deep breaths, nose buried in my linens. I was surprised at such an abrupt change in his condition. He seemed almost relaxed. Hearing my arrival, he bolted upright and the pillow was dashed to the floor.

I set the tray of milk and honey on the bedside table. "Is it my scent that calms your nerves, young master?" Perhaps there was something of myself in the room: traces of vanilla, silver polish, copal, wood ash. After all, there were moments in the early morning where I found myself with absolutely nothing to do, and the only thing to be done was to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until the room began to reflect the morning's colours. "Do you still prefer a generous amount of honey in your warm milk?"

"Do not patronize me, Sebastian," It was such a feeble command.

"I intended nothing of the sort." I handed him a delicate tea cup, as warm white as the milk. He detangled his arms from the sheets and received without comment. As he sipped he appeared so brittle, like the slightest provocation could tip him into panic once more.

I sat back in my chair and waited for some additional order or signal. He would not turn his head, only shift his eye in my direction and take another sip. After he was through, he set his cup on the tray and asked, "Why did you bring me here?"

"I thought it best to bring you to my room because it offers a little more clarity than the spaces you typically occupy. Judging from the fact that you appear much calmer, I think it was a good decision.” I frowned. “Now, will you tell me why you decided to destroy my roses?" I did not want to admit that his actions had stung me.

"They're not your roses."

"I cultivate them."

"On my property."

"You would not be in ownership of this property if it was not for me." I leaned in closer. "Of all the things you could have shorn to pieces, you chose one which I give particular attention to, and you know I only care for those roses because they please you so much."

He turned away, burying his face in the covers. "I don't think I like them anymore." I offered him the pillow from the floor, which he latched onto with hesitation. His eye was filled with fear, as if he were ready to fly into another panic. He clutched the pillow to his chest to stave off another breakdown.

"Young master, no one is angry with you. I am not here to scrutinize you."

He reached back behind his head to pull the lace that held his eye patch, which he placed on the tray. His violet eye stared at me he shifted deeper into his cocoon of white, face half-hidden in my pillow. Linens muffled his reedy voice. "Seeing those roses... just made me so angry. Elizabeth will want white roses for the wedding, and she knows they're my favourite. And... You know they're my favourite." He coiled his arms around the pillow tighter. "Sebastian... I don't want to marry."

"I know."

"How can you know?"

"I just know you, young master. I know you feel you cannot be what Elizabeth needs, and it tears you apart. And then there is the issue of me... with such obligations placed upon you...”  Perhaps my voice wavered. “I have not been what my young master needs." He lifted his head, wanting to make sure what he heard was correct.

I would not show my hesitation as I knelt to the floor beside the bed. Nervousness quaked within me, but I tamped it down with the sight of those beautiful eyes. "I should not have condemned your feelings, young master."

"What? Hang on... are you apologizing?"

"I have to admit that I was largely responsible for adding to your distress. I do not feel remorse... for the things I said... but my harsh words have placed distance between us...” It was unnatural for me to have such difficulty finding my words. From under the covers his hands reached for mine on the edge of the bed. Even through gloves I could feel his irenic warmth.

"But there was some truth to the things you said to me that night. How dare I develop feelings for a servant...?” Ciel’s voice trailed to a whisper, “Sebastian, you are so much more..." His face slid into the pillow again. “Damn it, I hate myself for feeling this."

My free hand reached for the back of his head, stroking his hair, running down his neck. Was it such an effort to be a source of comfort?

"Are you ashamed, young master?"

"Ruddy hell, I suppose I am." His hand tightened around mine. "I think about Lizzie, how any attempt to please her feels like such a strain, every effort is so contrived and disingenuous, how I have to try so hard. How long would I be able to keep on a face, before she finds the truth about all of me? I really wish I could be okay with playing a role for her, keep secrets so she can remain safe and happy. But she won’t be satisfied with that, even if the truth of me breaks her heart in the end.  

"I think about my aunt and uncle... I know why they're pushing for us to marry this year. The only thing of value they own is their estate, their name and title... all other assets are nearly expended. Alexis wants to benefit from my business, and he's doing everything to get into my good graces. He wants a profit, and can I really cut them off? The family who is head of the Queen's guard? I cannot antagonize myself against family with such political influence... and I feel I'm on the verge of disgracing myself.

“And what am I to do when Elizabeth and I are married? How much would she discover? Sebastian... Would she leave? Who would she tell? Could I ever trust her with anything? Why does she even love me? What does she see in me? What do I have to offer her?" Each question was agitating him into a fresh state of panic.

"And why must it be you? I can't... get over you..."

I took hold of his face. His breath caught in his throat. "You are causing yourself so much distress with all these thoughts."

"But what am I supposed to do, Sebastian?" The boy raised his voice as he sat upright. Pushing away the sheets, he faced me and his hands gripped mine where I held his jaw.  "Everyone around me expects something I can't give, or I can't be! I'm doomed to disappoint everyone, and lose everything in the process, and I hate myself for all of it! I hate my weakness, and my shame, and I'm just fucking pathetic..." He was ready to lose himself to his tears.

"Young master." I pulled his quaking form to the edge of the bed, legs parted on either side of me as I braced his thighs. "Stop this. You are not weak. Your shame only causes you doubt and anguish, so release it. It does not serve you.” My arms crept behind, up his back. I whispered, “I will not let you fall."

I was enfolded in shaking arms, my head clasped to his chest, his breath in my hair, bergamot and tobacco. "Can you promise me this?"

"Yes." It rang with such solemnity.

"When I hear you say it, I really can believe it." There was his look again, the way the crease in his forehead would vanish, how there was a slight parting in his lips and his eyes fluttered.

"The only thing I can expect of you, young master... is for you to be you."

"So... if I were to indulge in this... would you turn me away once more? Ignore my advances...?" I saw the last dim vestiges of fear still flickering in his eyes. He tipped my chin, and I clutched at his rumpled shirt.

I uttered, "I cannot ignore your advances any better than I can ignore your commands."

"Then I suppose that my desires are no more than orders to be followed."

"That is not true at all, young master.” I stared at rose lips. “Do you not recall how I have delighted in you?"

"Yes... but... is it only because of the contract? Because of my soul?” For the briefest moment, Ciel’s soft pout trembled with the question, “What about… me?"

"Oh young master... you speak of it as though it were a separate part of you. Do you not understand... that you are your soul?” My whispering lips kissed the tremor away from his chin. “Every thought and inclination, every feeling and experience, everything that has built you, culminated to become the person you are now... the taste of it exudes from you.” He seized the nape of my neck and his breath mingled with mine. “Your soul is not a pearl buried at the bottom of you. You cannot locate it any better than you can locate the forces that allow you to move your limbs, or that cause your heart to pump, or that enable you to sense the world around you. It saturates all parts of you, permeating every fibre of your being.”

He fed on those words, breathing them in with the same hunger for my scent, my touch, my everything. My eyes were aflame. "So... when I say, 'I desire you,' trust that I speak of the totality of you."

I could taste his inner turbulence in that kiss. Could it be that I should be a receptacle for all that plagued him? I craved his conflict with the same intensity as I craved his flesh and I could not stay my grip that pulled him further against me. His parted lips gasped against mine, his tongue in my mouth, his sighs crowding my hearing, his knees on my sides locking me to him.

Our lips separated, and Ciel leaned his forehead against mine, eyes closed.  "Sebastian... do you have a soul?"

"Not a human one."

"How do you mean?"

I raised him from the bed and he stood against me, his arms secured to mine in a need for stability.

"Hmmm... I can give you a simple metaphor. Imagine your soul to be the most succulent fruit, perfect ripeness, bursting with life, the skin of it unbruised. It is whole and complete and perfect. But what if the fruit were to rot? The skin becomes a cracked husk and from it seeps a putrid, tainted substance. Where once there is something good and nourishing is now poison and filth."

Did I want my master to think of me in this way? Even if he had admitted in the past he was aware of my evil nature, and would speak of it in a negative light, he continued to probe it. I was baffled by the meaning of it.

He pulled at my gloves, pinching each finger with aching slowness, until the white material slipped from me and fell to the floor. "So... at one point was your soul good?"

"I have often speculated this."

"What causes a soul to go bad?" He clasped at my hands, caressing knuckles, kissing nails.

"It takes a very nasty Fall. One has to fall so far to cause the whole of him to shatter.” My splayed fingers trembled to sweep over smooth features, cheeks and brows, the bridge of his nose and that pointed chin. “I can anticipate your next question, young master, and I can assure you: you cannot know that type of Descent. Your kind is privileged, in that you never will."

His explorations would know no limit. "Well... what about those who go to Hell? Hell exists, am I correct? Do their souls not become evil?"

"I think your interpretation of things is skewed, but that is understandable. We cannot speak of such things fully, for there are not words to describe these concepts.” I tried to ignore him unbuttoning my jacket. “Hell is not so much a place but a condition of Nature that has been corrupted. It is not below the surface of the Earth like so many of those myths of time have claimed... but rather a dimension of space and time that one must be heavy enough to sink into its depths.” With gentle fingers he pulled my hands from his face. “You are looking at me with the most amusing expression."

He stayed my touches to relieve me of my jacket. I stood frozen.

"It's because you're not making any sense."

He was going to undress me, take what he wanted of me, and I would let him. He determined that he needed to disrobe me, and the prospect of inevitable exposure evoked such trepidation. I would wear none of this feeling on my features.

Perhaps he could sense my nervousness by some other means.

I made a show of clearing my throat. "I cannot expect you to understand it. But, be that as it may, a human soul can be weighted enough to descend, but a damned soul is still a complete soul. One has to fall from a very, very high realm in order to cleave one's soul."

He crouched down and made a clumsy attempt to untie my shoelaces. "So... a fallen angel. Take these off," he ordered. I obliged, and kicking them to the side, I stood still as stone in front of him once more.

"I suspect, but I have no memory of this. But then, the idea of me as an angel at the beginning of time?” A nervous snicker tumbled. “It would be as strange as saying that you, young master, were a bird before you became you."

"That is ridiculous."

 Freeing me of my waist coat was a vexatious effort as each button was a deliberate, subtle tug and release. "But if you have no memory of such a transition, and no one to tell you otherwise, who is to say that at one point you were not?" Braces were unclipped, trousers cast aside.

Each article was as a piece of my own armour, and his determination prompted this bawdy disarmament, with my defences tumbling to the floor. Shirt sleeves were flung from me and his hands graced my bare shoulders. "Sebastian, all this talk of souls does not make me feel any better about myself. It just reaffirms that I must be so abhorrent for... wanting you."

 "I do not think you abhorrent."

"Then what do you think of me? All of me? If I am not some awful person for desiring a demon....?"His cool hands cradled my ribs as he strung kisses over my chest.

My thin response was to place my hands on his shoulders, and I thought it so unfair for him to still be dressed. "Well, it does not take much for a person to be ensnared by a demon. We are quite good at that. But what sort of character is required for one to desire... me?” He peered at me in response to the question. “You cannot hide it, because I have seen it in your eyes. You have a very unique soul, young master.” I cupped his face once more. “You are not the first to find me seductive, but you are the first who has... done a great deal more than just taken pleasure with me."

"'Done more?' What have I done to...?"His hands trailed over my thighs and with the tug of shorts I felt the last of my defences slip with jarring release. It was almost as if this had caused a change in the atmosphere of the room. Ciel took a step back, eyes scanning. "I cannot think of you as my butler right now."

What was I, without the trappings of a servant? The implications were overpowering as I pondered this startling conclusion. I was not there to merely satiate a lustful appetite, neither mine nor his. He wanted to engage in equal portion, a companion to this intimacy. I gazed at my sinister hand, the nefarious emblem a declaration of my true condition. It was the only thing on my person that could not be stripped from me.

I could not deny my want for his flesh, to feel him pulsing under me... but his eyes suggested his desire for me was one of the heart. This truth made me stay my hands, and I thought of how that one night I fled to the woods so I would not have to endure his affection.

I would not repeat the action again.

I wrenched the wool finery from him, grey waist coat, dashing neck tie, dusty trousers and heeled shoes scuffed.  I panted, "Your presence is disarming. Your affection is suffocating.” Where my disrobing had been a drudging event, Ciel’s was swift and unrestrained. “And I could not say no to it, even if I were given permission."

"What are you saying?"

"In the face of such beauty I cannot...young master..." he must have felt the trembling of my hands, saw my placid features crack as my vulnerability was finally brought to bear. “Please tell me, that you can take what little I can give... and be satisfied with it." All that was required to lay aside my hesitation was the contact of his skin, to feel his heat and those hands on my waist. I faced his shining tenderness, my lips over his, and he stood on his toes as he pulled me closer. I was sure he could feel this human-like heart hammering against my chest.

He breathed into me, "Yes.... yes to all of it, and damn me for it."

I was pushed to the bed, blundering over crumpled sheets. Despite rattling breath that betrayed an uncertainty, Ciel sank onto me and I felt some deep fissure at the nefarious centre of me. I propped my head against the metal frame of the bed, holding to his hips in my lap. I shuddered as kisses on my chest wound such desolation from within me. This malignity seeped through my limbs and my ferocious mouth was on his throat, violent hands pumping his eager cock against my own. He crooned with hot breath against my ear, “Sebastian… yes…” as one hand gripped at the nape of my neck, and the other aided me in pumping our swelling pricks. Fluid slathered between us, Ciel bucked into our combined exertion as though propelled by my own foulness.

He was this force of life over me, pulsing with warmth that was more than the beat of his heart, more than simple lust. I trembled before it, awed by his magnificence and I heard myself saying, "Young master, I wish to glorify you." I could drink of him, an energy that dripped off him as thick as nectar off a tree, be drunken sick with it, and not care of how bereft it would leave me.

The world seemed to slip away from us, its noises dampening and the light leaving. My heavy presence so desired to stamp out his light, but I was powerless against the brilliance that shone from that pentagrammatic gaze. In that moment Ciel was the whole of my reality, barred and contained within an aura as softly noxious as leaden wings.

He grabbed my free hand and directed it to his rump. "Touch me here." His eyes gleamed in the darkness and I realized that I was the one who was terrified. He gasped when I pressed a finger to that pucker between his cheeks and he nudged against the sensation. "Yes, this is where I want you."

I had dreamt of this moment and yet when I stared into his eyes I was arrested by the vast dominion opening before me. The very contents of him, all his conflict, his corruption, his vivacious determination and wrath, mixing with such beauty and sweetness… the greatest prize bared, his end of the contract, hung over me. "Oh my master..."

I laid him next to me, reaching for the bedside table for oil. He lifted his legs in exhibition, face florid but his eyes were fierce. Oiled fingers invaded that desirous backside. As I slipped in a finger I watched his features bloom into radiant pleasure and he rocked against the intrusion. He was so open, legs splayed, arms yearning for my embrace. A guttural moan peeled from parted lips as I slid in another finger. My lips puckered on his neck, and he nuzzled his face into mine. Cradling arms pained me with such wondrous hurt.

His voice trembled. "Put it in."

"You are not ready."

With his free hand he stole the oil from the table. I gasped to feel slippery heat working over my stiff organ. "I say when I am ready. Do it now!"

Everything was so slick, my hands, his brow, and that tight little ass when I felt the slight barrier ease to give entrance. The head was in before either of us had a chance to brace ourselves.  Ciel clenched around this incursion, too little too late realizing I was right. I heaved from the tightness, and endeavoured to steady my breathing, which was arduous when I could feel the walls clenching me from all sides.

My eyes widened at the reality of my situation. I was inside him, and he was lying before me trembling, panting, and I felt his thrumming heat all around me. My hands clutched to his thighs with desperation, staying myself to not take ruthless pleasure.

"Tilt your hips forward, open yourself." He relaxed his back slowly and I felt myself slide into him further. I raised his rear to me and plowing deeper was tedious.

His tightness was such a wonderment, shooting through my legs, and I felt weak in the knees from it. I smelled his sweat, musk and desire, the sweetness of his affection and his lust heady and dense. With wavering voice he said, "You are so big."

"Do you hurt?"

"No..." he took a breath, "It feels good... Sebastian you feel so good..." he rocked against me and the added pressure siezed me. I leaned in, tilting into him and he jerked, a wild groan escaping him. "Yes, Sebastian... again..." I eased away to grind myself to the hilt once more. With each thrust his legs widened, his body pulling toward me. His hair splayed over my pillow, and I was delighted by the fact that his scent would still be in the room when this was all over.

Each thrust was a blinding pulse, chipping away at me. Ciel’s resplendence, his moans, his grasping, the sweat on his brow and the light in his eyes… I believed it could erode at the black muck, the baneful elements of my very composition. I was losing myself in my master. I panted from the exertion, my vision red and my fingers bruising. I felt his hand on my face and he whispered, “I should be so afraid of you right now.”

“Actually,” I grunted, “you have more control of this situation than you may realize.”

 "If that is the case—ah… you don't have to hold back."

My voice quaked and I did not expect it to sound so weak. "Yes, young master, I do. For my sake."

His ankles were propped on my shoulders, gripping my arms as he kept his rear lifted, eager for each thrust, his scarlet cock bobbing. I felt it unendurable: the way he accepted me, all of me, the way his watery eyes did not look away. I could not bear to look at him anymore. I raised myself on my knees, lifting his backside as I crouched over him, his body folded under me. I buried my face in his neck, clenching as I drove into him harder. I could feel his erection grazing my abdomen, his legs sliding out, bending, clamping around me. His arms wrapped about my shoulders, a desperate clawing. My pleasure was mounting, the heat flooding the base of me with agonizing wildness.

Ciel whispered in my ear. "Don't stop... ah…” My hips pounded, and he whimpered under me, blind with pleasure, his notes urging everything, “Sebastian, I— oh…” the speed of my hips, my hands which held him up so tight, and then the final tension, "Ah yes, yes! Oh shite… hah…!" releasing into an incoherent jumble. I felt white heat on my chest; his glory enveloped me, his teeth on my neck and nails in my back. I surrendered to that wild orgasm, moaning in his ear, feeling him clamp against pulsing organ as I spent myself inside him, filling that space with ferocity, vileness, and awe. It was awe that I felt when his fingers stroked my cheek as I growled against the pillow.

He twitched under me, coming down from his own ecstasy. I pulled from him and crashed to the bed. There was such a feeling of destitution from that release. I was drained and would have much preferred to crawl into some dark secluded space just to recapture some sense of myself. Yet I pulled Ciel to my chest, feeling that soul quiver within him, and I exhaled a shuddering sigh. His heat and scent and touch would reduce me, and yet there was a sick comfort to such an addiction. He grunted from the soreness, his legs stiff and his rear stinging. He traced my eyelashes, my brows, over cheekbones and lips.

"Sebastian."

I opened my eyes.

Perhaps Ciel sensed my faintness. My hands caressed over his sides, a leg draped over him with possessive force. My mind teetered somewhere between contentment and pure dread, and I reasoned this was not the worst position to occupy.

"Stay, with me... like this. Only for a while." His eyes were drooping, and he tucked his head into my shoulder. I wound that arm around him, bringing my face to his rumpled hair. He was roses, my linen, fresh fornication. I could live forever with that scent.

"What of dinner, young master?"

"I could care less."

I stroked his hair, planted a kiss on his forehead. I tasted salt and deviance. "Are you alright? Do you hurt? Do you require nothing?"

From my chest he murmured. "Why were you holding back?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember the early summer of 2014, working over this chapter and discovering a revelation within this story, that it was becoming something I hadn't originally intended it to be. So much white, and I think it reflects the illumination I was experiencing at the time. But there's no light without darkness. Watch this space for expedient updates <3


	20. Chapter 20

Cradling my master lured him into deep, seductive sleep. I wanted him to forget that damned question. It forced me to admit to a truth that had upended aspects of me I had once considered immutable.

I wished him to work out some conclusion on his own, consider that I was holding myself back so as not to hurt him. My restraint was presented as a personal need and I hoped the young master interpreted this as my will to keep myself composed in my comely form.

With holiday past, everyone settled into their usual routines, myself included. Anyone else would not have perceived any change in my condition, but I felt it as a weight in the pit of my stomach, a nervousness that crept through my limbs and a fog that rose in my mind. Acting in the capacity of a butler was not a strain for me and yet I felt it took more focus and increased determination to accomplish the tasks that I had once considered effortless.

After the events in my quarters, Ciel appeared to flourish with a new sense of purpose. It was an uncharacteristic eagerness and he plunged into work with increased determination and vigour. Typically it took great effort for him to rise in the morning and start the day, but this time he was urgent to carry on his work that he had set aside for the holiday. He practiced his violin after having not set foot in the music room for weeks. The melodies that floated down the hall into the foyer were just as spry and eager as he was.

Having received an extensive report from Mr. Hameldon, he spent an entire Thursday poring over account statements, inventory reports, and comparing these with his own record books. I wheeled the tea trolley into his study that late afternoon: lemon tarts with sugar glaze, and a pomegranate rooibos tea with brandy.

"There must be something of real interest in that report if you have managed to stay immersed in your accounts, young master." Mr. Hameldon's report was a stack of papers on the desk, records dating back to the previous quarter.

"And I'm sick of looking at numbers right now." He uttered a "thank you" as I set the tea and tart on the corner of the desk. "But yes, I found something that concerns me."

"Oh?"

"Yes, please sit, Sebastian, so I do not have to look up while I am talking to you." He gestured to the chair across his desk as he sipped from his tea cup. I obliged, gracious that my master wished to have my company despite his pressing work load. "I do not believe Mr. Hameldon is aware of the severity of the situation in Le Havre."

"Is this preferable?"

"At the moment, yes, because right now I need him to concern himself with the factory and nothing else. Along with these reports, he also informed me of inadequate machinery, failing ventilation as well as workers telling him of injuries due to poor work conditions. Mr. Hameldon has not found any incident reports from the past six months, nor have work conditions been improved or repaired.

"What I find most concerning about this situation is that what Mr. Hameldon has described to me, I have on record that Mr. Martel assured me these potential hazards were taken care of last fall, third quarter. I have receipts from him. There is even a record of it, in the nominal accounts.

"While this expense was noted in this account, I see no mention of it anywhere else. So I must ask the question, where did that money go if not to repairs that were never made?"

I cradled my chin, observing the boy’s irritation. "That is a strange discovery, young master. But if there is a discrepancy in the accounts, how did you not know of this sooner?"

"At the end of the third quarter, all the books were balanced, but I found an inconsistency. There was an additional credit added to the factory account to make it appear as though profits from the holiday season reimbursed the expense of the repairs to the factory. But this is not consistent with sales reports."

I nodded my head. "So you're suggesting the credit to the factory came from some other source than what you were told."

"Yes." He set down his tea cup and leaned forward. "I think Martel has been embezzling money from my factory. And he's been very smart to cover his tracks. If he had the resources to keep me in the dark about it, it must be something worth hiding."

"Would you like me to make short work of the matter, young master?"

Ciel stared at me for a moment and then picked up his tea cup again. "I considered it, but I think I'd prefer you to stay here and not make a mess of things. I don't want Mr. Hameldon to suspect foul play. I can't let him know just severe this situation is. I want him to continue working under the assumption that Mr. Martel is just an idiot that doesn't know how to manage a factory, and I don't need you to run in and cause a scene."

"I can be discreet if you need me to be," I crooned.

He cut me a scathing look. "Whenever have you been discreet, Sebastian? You were hardly discreet in Dublin. I'm still having trouble with that factory because of the massive work turnover that occurred because of you. You scared the majority of my work force out of that factory because of your antics, and left someone else to clean it up."

I grinned. "Yes, but it was effective. You told me to find your money and do whatever it takes. That is precisely what I did."

"I just don't need the headache.” He took a bite of his tart that muffled his words as he changed the subject. “Speaking of which, I need you to read this and tell me if it is rubbish.” He handed me a letter written with his finest penmanship. He reserved his most careful writing for only a few persons.

2nd April 1891

My dear Lizzie,

I still feel terrible guilt for the events of the previous weekend. It has opened my eyes to problems I have been ignoring for some time and I concluded that not only do I hurt myself by not addressing them, I hurt others as well. This is intolerable, for you should never have to be a victim to my burdens. On the other hand, I do not want to deceive you, and say that a life with me will be bright and happy and easy, because if that is what you want, I am doomed to forever disappoint you. If you are willing to take me as I am, then I must do my best to be a most noble husband for you.

On a lighter note, I have plans to visit Le Havre in a few weeks. It is pleasant this time of year and while I will be mostly preoccupied with business matters, I reasoned why not make something of a holiday of it, before the season starts and we will be stuck in London. I think we are both in need of time away from our respective estates and I would appreciate the pleasure of your company. If you inform your father that you have an interest in my factory, I am sure he would have no objections to allowing you and Paula to journey with me.

Also, I have packaged you this gift that I had intended to give you some time ago. I am embarrassed to admit that it slipped my mind, with work stresses and deadlines. I hope this becomes a new favourite for you, and perhaps you will consider wearing it to the ball, or perhaps you will find any occasion to wear it. I hope you have been practicing our song for the event. I have just started practicing, but I am confident that I will have a good handle on the piece in a month's time of diligent practice.

My warmest regards,

Ciel

I set the letter on the desk while making little effort to stifle a chuckle. Ciel folded his arms. "Well?"

"Oh my lord, what an awful letter."

"Yes, by all means, tell me how you really feel!" A firm gesticulation accented his sarcastic remark. He sighed and took another sip of tea. "Well, what is wrong with it?"

"Do you honestly believe that this letter holds your 'warmest regards?' The tone of this letter seems rather tepid to me."

"Well, at least I'm being honest."

"Do you assume that honesty and tact are mutually exclusive?" I picked up the letter once more. "Do not tell her that life with you will be miserable. Is that really necessary? You say you are willing to be a most 'noble husband,' whatever you mean by that I can not be sure, yet warning her of a life of misery sounds as though you are attempting to push her away. This is all after you apologize for your hurtful actions last week."

I looked up from the letter to see him turned away from me, shoulders hunched and wearing the most adorable pout. I asked, "So... when were you going to tell me about this trip to Le Havre?"

"Well, I'm telling you now, I suppose."

"Ah. Be that as it may, it is a sweet sentiment to invite her along. Even if your purpose for visiting is business, you do not need to imply that takes priority over her. And what made you remember the perfume?"

"Yesterday, when I was playing the violin." He shifted in his seat as he caught my amused expression. "More tea, please."

I obliged, moving to his side of the desk. "I suggest you tell her you would go to any length to appease her, that having her accompany you to Le Havre will make an unbearable business trip a delightful getaway... and that the gift is something you thought on a whim. Goodness, do not tell the young lady you forgot to give her a present."

Ciel drummed his fingers on the desk in irritation at my lecture. "Sebastian, I've resigned to the reality of my relationship with Lizzie. She will grow to realize this as a terrible mistake and resent me for everything. Better it to be honest now than to pile on more lies, which is what you are suggesting."

"I am not suggesting you lie, young master. Just sweeten your words." 

"Yes, and you would be an expert on the subject." He held the cup just to his lips, suspended with thought. "She doesn't deserve me, you know. She would be better matched with someone who will give her the kind of love she's seeking. I can give her luxurious gifts and beautiful places... and tepid emotions."

"Young master, please do not tell me this still weighs heavy on you."

"No. I think I just feel a little sad for her, is all." I was baffled by Ciel's last comment. He must have seen my brow furrow and added, "Of course you wouldn't understand."

"Perhaps you care to illuminate?"

He rose from his chair to face me on the other side of the desk. He leaned against the arm rests of the chair, face close to mine. "It would be one thing if I were some heartless bastard who was incapable of giving a damn for anyone. Sometimes I wish I could be that person. Then I could look her in the eye and say I cannot return her affections because I feel nothing for no one and she would not take it personally.

"But the truth is that while I care for her, there will never be a passion between me and her. I tried, but I cannot supply her that. But you very well know it is not because I am incapable of producing that emotion." I responded to his breath on my face by pushing back into my seat, wanting to shy away from his immobilizing gaze.

The strangest aspect to this situation was I sensed no malicious intent from him. Ciel had no desire to maintain a cruel control over me and yet in the five years of our bond his will had never been stronger and my power never more subjugated. His command on me was not borne from a place of authority and power, but from some hidden origin that I lacked the faculties to overthrow.

The rumbling nervousness returned in the pit of my stomach once more, the same sensation I felt when his fingers feathered down my sides as he fell to dreamless sleep in my grasp that other evening. Did he sense my defencelessness? Was it captured in my features and was that what prompted him to take hold of my chin?

A thought was whispered in my back of my mind, _All my passion is reserved for you. My everything..._ His touch was scalding and despite the ache in my arms I gripped his tweed jacket to meet stinging lips that could deliver sweet words like poison. His command was an internal chant, _Yes, yes, take it, it's yours..._

I thought back to how not so long ago my intention was to corrupt. How depraved must a soul be to desire this despicable coition? Now that this was actual, Ciel compelled by his own thirst for me, I realized my intention was fulfilled, and that all that was left was my own burning need. I just needed him, and it hurt. Fulfilling his command to take him, including this force I could not begin to comprehend, could only result in my debilitation. It was maddening. 

"Sebastian... it has been a challenge to focus on my work when I cannot stop thinking about you," he whispered in my ear. I knew that I had occupied his thoughts, for the tingling in my hand had been relentless. "So come to my quarters tonight."

My voice quivered, "Yes, my lord."

He caressed my cheek, pulling the fringe from my face. "It's not an order. It's an invitation."

"Then I will be there all the same." I motioned to him to permit me to stand and he backed away. Before I could take a step, tight arms embraced me, and he buried his face in my coat. As he pressed into my thigh, he sighed into the fabric of my shirt and I felt something inside me wither.

I so wanted to cradle his head to my chest, but instead heard myself saying, "Young master... there is work to be done."

"Right." He backed away, tugging at his jacket. In a flurry he rushed to his seat, arranging papers in a mock attempt to bring organization to the day's work. He knocked a stack of reports into line and proclaimed, "We have business in the city tomorrow: preparations to make for our trip, a visit to the bank. Check to see my passport is still valid. Also, check for whatever supplies we need for the pantry. You can place whatever orders necessary." He pulled his letter to him. "I have to rewrite this letter, and it will need to be posted tomorrow. If it's done in London, she'll receive it that much sooner." He pulled fresh stationary from the desk and bent over it with ink pen. "I am finished with my tea."

I took this as a sign of dismissal. He would rather send me away than have me insist I leave. I placed empty china on the trolley and wheeled it to the door. Because the scratching of pen on paper had ceased, I knew he had lifted his head to watch me depart. The longer I stood at the closed exit the more acute his gaze felt.

The scratching continued. "Sebastian, please leave my study if you have such pressing work." 

* * *

 

Mey-Rin popped her spectacled head through the door as I was taking inventory of the pantry. She had been determined to corner me with questions about the young master so in response I had piled the work load on her over the past few days. Her questioning was not out of concern for him, but rather concern for her curiosity over speculative events that Monday.

Her speculations would be accurate.

"I trust your work is complete." I did not look up from my clipboard, but dreaded that she had finally trapped me and I had no solid excuse to vacate the pantry.

"Yes, sir, the linens are folded, the windows of the east wing were cleaned today, Finnian offered to beat out the rugs in the front parlour, and I just finished cleaning and putting away today's serve ware." She leaned against the doorpost. "It’s almost nine o' clock and you’re still hard at work Sebastian."

"We have a trip into the city tomorrow, and I must place an order for supplies."

She studied me under the gaze of those wide glasses. "Seems like work that could be done earlier in the day." She wore that knowing smirk. "But I know the young master can be a handful sometimes." She giggled before continuing, "Can he be a mouthful as well?"

I set my clipboard on a shelf and turned to face her. She took a step back at my penetrating gaze. "Are you actively trying to irritate me?"

"Is it working?"

"The only thing I find irritating about your comments is the lack of respect you hold for your master."

"Oh Sebastian, that's not true at all!" Her arms wrapped around my waist and in boots she raised herself to whisper in my ear. "So I saw you carry the young master back to his quarters late the other night, and he didn't take dinner at all. I wonder… what did you do to him that made him so tired?"

Recalling the event, it was late in the night when I finally decided to carry the master back to his own quarters. He was so heavy in my grasp… I had never considered the weight of him, for carrying him had always been an effortless task. If she had seen us, it must have been a curious display. Not only did I trudge across the manor in bare feet, but also he was wrapped in my sheet for I did not care to wake him just to dress him.

What unsettled me most was I now knew Mey-Rin was continuing to spy. In addition, I had not even sensed her presence. She was a skilled scout, but it would have mattered little if my abilities of perception had been sharply focused.

Containing my fury was proving difficult as I clutched her shoulders. "He had a panic attack, Mey-Rin."

"But he is in better spirits now, and I wonder why that is?"

"Because the young master is resilient and no one can fault him for having a lapse in fortitude."

Her lips were on my neck. "Big fancy words… I could have a lapse in fortitude myself, and maybe you'll take me to your bed as well.”

"A lapse in decorum is more like it." I pushed her from me. She was flustered from this shove and adjusted her glasses.

"That wasn't an issue before. Why are you being so mean, Sebastian?" Her eyes pleaded behind those scratched spectacles. "I know you did something to that boy, because no one has a break down like that and gets up the next day like nothing even happened. He's not trotting around like a spoiled little prince anymore. He's..."

"Carrying on the responsibilities of an Earl... as he should?"

"Oh it's more than that. I know that change when I see it, he looked right at me yesterday in the parlour and I saw it in his face. That kid was buggered. And I want details."

My eyebrows rose at the demand. "Oh? And you think I would give them freely?"

"So you did do it!"

Pinning her against the wall, my arm braced against her shoulders, both her wrists clasped in my other hand. "I see what you are trying for, so let me make myself perfectly clear. I will not take you again. We had our one-time tryst, and I told you, do not expect anything more than that. Were you expecting this to be regular, in exchange for your silence?"

She whispered. "I could tell."

"You are not innocent in this situation. You were caught spying. You responded to my advances. Also, I do not think you understand that you conceived that night, and I saved you from the shame of carrying that evidence." She looked down to hide her trembling lip. My voice softened. "I have spared you from any ill consequence that could have arisen from the whole thing. Keep your secret."

"Do you have no interest in me at all?" Her eyes sparkled from the tears about to fall. "You only did it to keep me in line, nothing more, huh?"

“Perhaps I need to say it one more time. My allegiance is to my master and no other.”

She pushed against my hold on her. "But did you feel nothing for me? You enjoyed it, and you don't want another taste of it?"

What was I to say to that? She was enjoyable, the softness of a woman, and I was not the sort to turn down any opportunity for sex. But I could not crave her. A simple touch from her would not send me to a frenzy. She could not fill me with ravishment and leave me hungry for more.

I so could have taken him in the study during high tea. I could have laid him over that desk, ruck up the accounts and reports under his writhing back, ink blotched from his sweat and he would taste of lemon and turpitude. That pathetic letter could have been used to sop up the mess.

My face must have betrayed my thoughts. "You're thinking about him right now. Oh my God, Sebastian. Are you... blushing?" My grip on Mey-Rin loosened as I covered my face. "Admit it! You weren't looking at me with your face going all red like that." There was a heat in my ears, on the bridge of my nose, and it felt humiliating to be so exposed.

She laughed at me, a blatant jibe at my own pride and I could not stop the caustic words that issued from my grimace. "Alright Mey-Rin, yes, I was thinking about the young master. That evening he indeed gave himself to me… and I will have him again. I could taste of him a thousand times and not tire of it. Do you understand? I care not to have you again."

She crossed her arms. "Honestly? I could throw myself at you and you still wouldn't have me? Yet the very thought of young master leaves you with a reaction I had to work to get from you. Tell me, what does that scrawny little shit give you that’s so much better than what I have given?"

The back of my hand collided with her face, glasses knocked to the stone floor. It was uncertain whether she cried out from the blow or the shock that I was so bold to strike her. I wanted to scream, **_how dare you, you insufferable twat_** , rip her to pieces and use her in ways she would have never considered. My vision turned red as Mey-Rin cowered, holding her swelling cheek.

"Learn to respect the young master.” I uttered with even tone. "And I will not privilege you with the answer to that question."

Ciel’s beckon rang through me like the soft clamour of a bell.

"Sebastian I'm sorry—" Mey-Rin scrambled to reach me, but I had already travelled the length of the kitchen.

"I am finished with this conversation. Do not make it worse for yourself."

Feeling the call of my master eased my frustration, and so I decided that supply count would have to wait until the early hours. An uppity maid would not be in the pantry to bother me, I reasoned, and I would have opportunity to complete my work if she were sulking in her own quarters.

Stalking up to the master’s room with too much eagerness, I recalled how at one point I was so controlled with him, how my intentions were to incite some reaction in him, rather than rollick about for the sake of it.  It was safe to say that I, like him, was beyond caring about control or domination.

I did not bother to knock. The room was alight with candles, warm from their flames and redolent of paraffin. Standing candelabras lined a path to the bed, where he laid stroking himself, coverlet thrown back to the foot of the bed. There was such a romantic reverence to the scene, that I should kneel before some exquisite offering, but instead I began to disrobe, depositing my effects over a couch.

To see my hunger thrilled him, for he wriggled under his own touch, candlelight flickering eerie shadows over his oiled skin. The effect gave him such an ephemeral quality, penumbra wavering with the dance of light, where parts of him faded to the shadow only to spring to shining reality the next instant.

Placing my hands on him was my means to determine that he was indeed still corporeal, that this not some wretched illusion. He was so slick, oil and sweat, the room sultry. His hands pomaded over my shoulders, and I felt I was being dressed for some exalted occasion. I climbed over him, a palm reaching underneath his legs splayed before me to feel him dilated.

“Yes, I am so ready for you,” Ciel groaned into my mouth as I confirmed it, fingers being pulled into an anointed orifice. How I desired to explore further, “But first, oh—“ he pulled away from the intrusion, “I want to play a game with you.”

“What sort of game?” He continued to trail his hands down my sides.

Candlelight glinted in mischievous eyes. “The sort that involves candle wax.”

“Oh, you desire that treatment this evening?”

“No, actually, I desire to give that treatment to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting chapter, in that it pulls from things in chapter 6 through 12 and there's set up here that will extend into so many chapters to follow. There are such chords pulled through this entire narrative, pluck it on one end and its vibrations travel to the other end. 
> 
> Looking into my notes, I was brainstorming this chapter back in May 2014 (and I first published it July 2014). I had not originally planned for Mey-Rin to suffer such an injury. What I had planned originally seemed unremarkable. But if I hadn't antagonized her so, hadn't given such drama to her exchange with Sebastian, so many compelling events wouldn't have followed. 
> 
> Next chapter's a doozy.


	21. Chapter 21

My young master had instructed me to crouch before him on hands and knees. From my position on the floor, I peered at his lithesome form, his legs dangling over the bed and chest puffed up in some sense of superiority.

"So I had this thought.... if you like hot wax."

"I would not be opposed to that sort of attention, young master."

"So can I interpret that as a yes?"

My master had an array of tools set on his table, arranged with some premeditation to perform this act. The pillar candles stood cramped and had burned down to where the wax had pooled around docile fire. Far off from this crowd of torches was a small bottle of oil, placed with ease of access in mind. A candelabrum of tapers was present for the sake of variety and plucking up the slim light he waved it over me, the shadows danced about us as the flame sputtered.

The prospect of acute stimulation thrilled me, and I clenched my fists with impatience. Let not emotion sully the sensory experience, I thought. It seemed Ciel's intention as well, that we should indulge for its own sake. Ciel gave no warning of the liquid heat that splashed over my shoulder. The calidity sprouted, flared to a comforting flush, and would subside before I felt a scalding nick once more.

"I rather like this arrangement, Sebastian." The patter of wax descended in even rhythm, a stinging procession over my sweltering skin. "Tell me, how does it feel?"

 "If I may suggest, you could be a bit more heavy-handed."

“Then keep your head down.”

Shadows shifted on the floor as Ciel exchanged one candle for another. Darting patches of light stilled and I waited for the torrid substance to make contact.

I sensed his hesitation. “Is there a reason for waiting, young master?”

“I… don’t want it to hurt you.”

“Have you considered that maybe I do?”

The heat erupted between my shoulder blades, a splash that stung like a dull knife, and the swelter broiled at that place of contact. My reflex was to arch my back, gasp from the burn, and Ciel crooned, "Oh I like that reaction."

“Pour from a lower position, do not hold the candle so high,” He was too eager to perform this action. Paraffin trailed under my arm and between ribs, a searing upsurge to wilt the barrier.  My heavy breathing was an encouragement for him to continue this treatment and I felt the wax collecting over my shoulders, layers of feverishness that caused the sweat to drip. Ciel chuckled and I breathed, “Hah… do you find something amusing?”

“The way the wax is spread over your back, it reminds me of the story of Icarus, with his melted wings.”

“You would equate me to a fool who flew too close to the sun.”

Fingers trailed around congealed wax. “Actually, I see myself as Icarus, but instead of flying too close to the sun in my escape from Crete, I would fly too low to the ocean.” He leaned forward with another pillar from the table, a hand braced on my shoulder. “Sebastian, I want to hear you moan, I want to see you writhe. Your lust for me is as a raging tempest and I want to feel it.”

That febrific libation dressed my lower back, its scalding reaching the base of me and welling between my legs. My hips rolled as Ciel puddled the molten substance like an offering to summon my putridity from decrepit pith. I shivered, for he intended to pull demoniac frenzy from this bodily containment.

 My sweating cheek against his cool shin alerted me to just how fevered I was. I licked at his white calf. “You would indulge in me as I truly am.”

“Yes.” He spread his legs.

Cupping behind his knees, I raised my sight to see my master beyond amused.

“You have no fear of this?” The reliquary of his thighs parted in favour of my beseeching lips and he was as erect as bronze statue. I pulled him closer to the edge and his strained organ rooted against my jaw.

"No. I do not fear what is mine to command. Now, I want you moaning over my cock."

I nuzzled smooth flesh. "Then continue giving me reason to moan." Wax needled down my back as my jowls hummed around him. He was my altar of profligacy, for his foundation was built on shameless abandon, desire, and hedonism. Kneeling before him in supplication, I could entreat that he release these bonds and set me ablaze. I lavished my favour, debauched idolatry, slurping from the fount. One hand clenched at my hair as the other continued to shower me with this molten oblation.  

My tongue purled over claret distension, the rumbling in my throat supplicating him to relinquish bitter inebriant. Clawing hands dug under his rear, pushing him into my fiending mouth. That flaming baton trembled, thrashing a chaotic lambency. His clumsy grip set the candle back on the table to better run his nails through my sodden scalp. He yelped from the pressure of taut lips loping from root to stem to bud and back again. As my back cooled I felt such scintillation in some abstruse realm within, the recalescence of my true condition—priapic summoning to stir up such atramentum.

"Ahh... Sebastian your mouth is so hot... everything feels so hot... uhn..."

Jowls relinquished the venereal rod. " I could stand it to be hotter."  Rising from crouching knee, the shade unfurled and Ciel’s breath seized. "It is not enough to feel flame through some indirect means. Ignite me from the source, young master."

Leaning over him on the bed, he must have noticed the red intensity, the black unwinding from me. He grabbed a candlestick off the table to position that flame under my abdomen and singe me anew. Writhing fervour danced under my chest, licking at a nipple, and an astounding shock tore through my nerves. My resounding groans propelled him to work over crude distension, the appetence of his grip forcing me rigid.

“Sebastian, you’re changing and I can feel it…”

“Do you wish to stop?”

“No, you are stunning when you look at me like that.”

This obfuscation was rising, coiling around Ciel’s arm as he jerked with such voracity. That blaze travelled back and forth across my chest until I trembled from the ache, searing desire reaching a peak.

“I could devour you right now, young master.”

“But you won’t. Still, I am mad to want you so.” He pulled his hand from me to trail his tongue over sticky fingers, his stare brazen. “Oh…. I can taste you…”

 I decided there would be no more games. Stealing the candle from him, I brought that refulgence to my lips, scorching to black. A perverse lick extinguished that light, its smoke mingling with that murky essence about us.  The extinguishing of that flame initiated the Tenebrae, all beacons snuffed in haunting succession and we were driven to an aphotic realm.  

In the darkness Ciel pulled me onto him and I delivered such scalding kiss, piceous corruption trickling between eager lips. He tore at my hair, pressing into my chest to agitate the stinging burn. I thrust against ardent entrance.

"Lie under me this time."  In the dark I smeared the oil, anointing this debased phallus as his frenzied hands pushed me to his pillows.  My master straddled me, crouching with feet to either side, and he clung to my shoulders. My grip directed unyielding erection, his hole pursed over the head. With a sigh he granted entry, driven into the sanctum, and I was given his blessing to defile it.  

Ciel strained to sink over the full length of me, drawing me in with one steady breath for each inch.  His fists pushed me into the bed, brow furrowed and sweat dripping down his chest from the exertion.

“Can you manage?” I sighed from the soft compression and pervasive warmth, a sensation made all the more delectable because it was his. He gasped to feel sharp nails on his waist as I steadied him. His quavering thighs would not hold him. "Gracious, young master, I cannot tolerate you overexerting yourself." My legs spread to lift at the knees, feet planted behind him to leverage my hips. “Relax your legs and lean back.”   With single thrust I drove deep into luscious abysm. In that pitch he could not see how I squeezed my eyes shut, but he could feel the biting grip on his hips and hear the falter in my moan as I was sheathed in him once more. Jet fierceness spilled over us, wellspring of the Abyss, and such a weight in the air with stinging caress.

"You're so deep, it's so hard... ah, Sebastian... it's really intense like this..." Ciel rocked over me, tangling himself in vicious mire, how it licked at the flesh, whipped about him like harsh winter winds, to amplify his pleasure. He was as immersed in me as I was him, his head lolling back with lips parted, eyes so heavy-lidded as it coiled around legs and chest, twisting about lean organ and pulsing with me. From innermost depths he directed this power with the same command as he had of me. All I wanted was to deliver more, amplify my gravid potency to a level beyond excessive. I sat up, knees under me to deliver thrusting lance, and Ciel tilted back, glorious wailing from my nefarious presence within and without.

" Hah... are you even real? I feel you in me, and your hands... and your breath... but I don't know where you begin and end, Sebastian. Let me know it is still you.”

Palms swathed of jet crushed him against me, and I whispered in his ear, “These hands… the same that delivered you from oblivion… See this seal burning... and know I am here." Amidst this raven fog, spoiled plumage to obscure all sight, the emblem was lucent. To be pressed so close, Ciel opened his eyes and the contract shimmered, thorny cinquefoil as beauteous as fallen rose. He gripped that hand, fingers laced as an arm entwined around my neck.

The conjuration of such exquisite abandon threatened all reason. The mask had been cast away to reveal me, power and wrath, voracious grin and greedy claws. Yet the more I revealed the harder Ciel bucked, the tighter his hold and the tension swelled, aching for release.

"Sebastian... what are you feeling?"

"To be buried in you... you’re pulsing around me, ah… I feel wrapped in every part of you, my young master, the only one who has ever indulged in me in this way. You astound me." His hips circled, pounding reduced to gentle rocking. This abyssal penetration had me gasping, “I can taste you… I could—“

“You will not.” His order was delicate, much like how his fingers traced along the back of my neck. Ciel's excitement plateaued to just under the level of climax and I was forced to rest at that frustrating height of pleasure with him. “I have you. This is all I want, to feel you like this for as long as possible. Please, Sebastian, hah… do not rush..."

Even though we toiled in stygian lechery, a glow emanated from him. It was not as a light, a dim flame... but it could be felt in the breath of his kiss, the softness of his touch. Where before his coarse actions excited, he revelled in the emission of a different energy, one that I had not placed in him, nor one we had produced together.

“I feel you everywhere..."

It was a feeling all his own, and when feathery kisses delivered a roaring in my ears and a constriction in my chest, I knew without a doubt what this was: A supreme power, a force that subdues all malignity not by violence but by the very presence of it, as it leaves no space for evil to dwell.

There was no defence to hold off his boundless rapture and no strength within me to endure it. "No, young master, I cannot..." Mire was dissolved along with my desire to continue this debaucherous union. Ciel yelped from abrupt abandonment and I buckled from the agony of impoverishment.

Ciel must have been thoroughly confused by this change in my attitude. Waving a feeble hand by the bedside table, I managed to light a single candle. "What just happened?"

A bitter chill overcame me. Grasping his face, I uttered, "You had asked me... why I was holding back. It is not that I would prefer to bridle myself, necessarily... but rather it is you..."

"Sebastian, I don't--"

"How you manage to reduce me to such a compromised state... with no trace of bitter intent, far from it." The realization unfolded, eyes wide and he shook his head. "You are such an anomaly, young master."

"Have I done you harm? I never meant..."

"It is not as a wound, but young master it pains me all the same. "What is this that you have done to me? How have you accomplished this?"

"All I have done is... give myself."

"Why would you do this, young master? This is not part of the agreement."

There was a moment of silence. I sat up, shrugging off his embrace. Leaning against the headboard, my stare was not without some bit of resentment.

"Agreement...? You mean the contract? What does any of that have to do with what's going on right now?"

"Everything. Because it is you, young master, that I am to receive when I fulfil my end of the contract, your soul, the essence that comprises you. Do you wish to nullify it?”

“No! That is not my intention at all!”

 “Then please tell me, why would you give of yourself as you have if not to meet your own obliteration?”  

He turned away. "I... don't know."

"Yes, I think you do know. Do not lie to me."

He pulled his knees to his chest, still refusing to look at me. “I did not think it was the same thing.”

"Well, fornication is not giving of oneself, but you are doing precisely that—“

“I wasn’t talking about sex.”

 “Then will you please, I implore you--"

"Sebastian I think I love you."

 The candle’s flame ceased its flickering. Even if I had anticipated this situation, it did not lessen the blow. Laying my head on the pillow, I draped my arm over my eyes to blot out that infernal amber light and what it had to show me.

His weight shifted on the bed as I felt him move to sit on the edge. "I'm sorry… I wasn't going to tell you, because I don't want you to run from me again. But you weren't supposed to find out and I didn't know you would be able to feel any of it…   when I was doing… what has never felt more right."  He laughed bitterly. “Shite…”

Never in all my encounters, all the eons, the great expanse of time and circumstances in which I had found myself with countless contractors...

"What a joke... a sick fucking joke...You say you cannot expect me to be anything than what I am... and I accept what I am, Ciel fucking Phantomhive, who can't imagine a life without his demon because you are the one being in this world that knows me better than I know myself.

"And what happens? I hurt you. I didn't mean to and I'm sorry, because I would hate to reduce any part of you. I wouldn't change anything about you, Sebastian. But I can't stop this. “Sebastian, look at me.” I sat up to penetrating eyes. “You cannot return my affections, can you?” I watched the last glimmer of hope fade. "No. I regret to say that I must fail you in this regard."

"Is there not some small part of you...?"

"I admire you for many things, young master. But it is not the same as..."

His face was curtained by stringy hair, but I viewed the slightest glimpse of trembling lip.  "You can't even say it."

Ciel wrapped his arms around himself, legs crossed. "You were right all along. I'm a damned fool…" his voice cracked. “I understand that maybe you just can’t feel that… but Sebastian… I feel so much…!” He rocked back and forth, desperate to contain the hurt I knew was welling to the surface. “And now I know I can’t even express that without causing you difficulty? What a joke... a sick fucking joke... and if to love is to give my soul, then what am I supposed to do?”

Ciel began to cry, the defeated sort where one wraps himself in quiet grief. Light flickered off those shaking shoulders as he balled himself, face buried in arms, sobbing into his knees… and he was never so gorgeous than in that moment.

This was why I would endure his affections, all for this moment.

My limbs ached, but I reached for him, pulling him against me because in his lamentable state was all I needed. I was awash in his sorrow, drinking in his grief and despair, feeling rejuvenated by it. It was as a fresh wound that begged to be licked as I could feel the tremor of his soul, the aching of his heart that wailed. That pain was echoed in his voice, as if to be conjured from the most occult depth of him that I had never been able to glimpse.

"All there is to do is to feel your sorrow.” Lying on the bed, I locked arms around him as he sobbed into my chest. “My foolish little master, so adamant to maintain control, and yet overthrown by your affection for me. Did I not say be satisfied with what little I can offer you?"

"You're right, you did, but still why does it hurt?” He raised his view, and his cheeks were strewn with tears, eyes puffy. “Sebastian... I never want you held back... because I want you as you are so... please... whatever fury or malice you possess, all that makes you abhorrent and marvellous... give me that so I can feel something from you, if nothing else."

“My foolish, pitiable little lord… will you ever cease to astound me?”

Revelling in this fresh pit of despair, I grew stiff for him again. Hands gripped his rear, erection ached, and I never felt such a furore for him.  Pressing against his thighs, I grunted.

"Sebastian... do you find pleasure in this...? Hah... then you can have it." He bit into my shoulder, knowing full well that I was hard for him once more. He bucked against me and I gasped. Licking at a cheek, the tears that fell tasted of surrender. "Oh Sebastian, my heart aches... fuck me so I don't have to feel it anymore. And this time hold nothing back of yourself because I can't bare it."

Ciel was brought to his hands and knees, not as slick as before, and  he cried from forceful entry, sinking to his elbows. Bruising hands clawed at thighs to pound him against me and he still was not close enough.

I felt my unfurling, a true putrescence seeping from me, wafting and tangling around us. I breathed it, felt myself plunging it into him. I pulled him onto my lap, his back against my chest, bracing arms lifting his legs. I rammed into him over me and with each thrust he yelped. My penetration was deeper than banal coitus, to let my sickening condition dwell within him. Permit the shattered pieces of his heart to fester, his hope to wither, because my master was prettiest with his cheeks strewn wet and face screwed in pain.

He reached back to cling to my shoulders, desperate for something to anchor himself. Teeth bit into soft flesh, the onslaught tearing at sensitive tissue, fingers digging into his thighs. He gulped at the corrosive dreck winding around us and still he would not command me to cease.

"My most gracious master… You are most lovely this way…"

He dropped his head as he plummeted into a fresh wave of sobs.

"Please endure me a moment longer." My pace quickened, vision seething from the sight of wound, distended organ scraping deep within. "Young master..." his arm coiled around my neck as I lowered lips to his jaw.  "Master, I am so...." his hips circled as I jerked into him, "hah... what you do to me..."

I would not kiss him on the lips, try as he might, but I would kiss at the tears that fell from my cruelty, which must have produced more. His cry was wretched, the sticky hole that tugged at me, his pain that permeated and fuelled the black.

Nails broke the skin. "Master... oh--" I crushed his body against me. "So gorgeous... uhn... yes ah!" Enveloped in soiled plumage, whirling as violent as my orgasm, the storm of my passion ripped all hope asunder. On his neck I sunk a groaning bite into his neck and he wailed but still did not let go.

This was me, my most genuine self he craved, the cruelty of teeth and claws, my domination to plough the hidden parts of him, to lay a seed and watch the agony germinate to highest despair.

His heartbeat drummed in my ears, breaths seemed to echo through cavernous chest, pain threading through him with crackling speed and it was life, Ciel was pulsing, beauteous life that was a riot of sound and rhythm. I could taste just a shimmer of it and I dared not take more for I could not trust myself to not take the full of it.

I ripped from him to see red and he sobbed on elbows and knees again. My lips pressed to swollen sacrarium and he gasped. Reaching around to grab him, my kissing, sucking, tugging had him stiff against obsidian nails. Gracious soft tongue swirled to savour the array: cruel seed and filth, vileness, the metallic sweetness and bitter depravity.

Yes, if there was ever a flavour that described the essence of depravity most complete, it would have been that freshly fucked arse.

"No more..."

Corrosive seed on my lips, I turned him over and fed him a most deplorable kiss, imparting the effluence of my furious climax. My mouth worked over his like a lover's, and he accepted, for Ciel knew this was the full measure of what I was able to give.


End file.
